A Lonely Place
by seekingHARRY
Summary: It's been 21 years since Walter Bishop vanished into thin air. Henrietta Bishop is all grown up and working alongside her mother and father for the Fringe Division while they investigate a peculiar case that seems to link right back to her, and possibly, finding something that's been lost for a long time. POST-FINALE 2037 P/O
1. Misguided Intentions

**AN- **So this is pretty much a little trial run. It's my first Fringe fanfiction, so we'll have to see how it goes. Depending on the response to all this, really, we'll see if I get into this. Anyways, happy reading!

* * *

**Chapter One**

**Misguided Intentions**

* * *

Her heart leapt suddenly, an uncontrollable feeling taking over her. While her pulse pounded in her ears, Etta sat up in bed trying to swallow her heavy breaths.

"No," she whispered to the dark. "No more."

She fell back in bed, both exhausted and relieved. The idea of sleep sounded so nice and innocent in theory, even tempting to the deprived mind. And yet, each time she chanced it - let her eyes slide closed - nothing seemed to go right. It had been weeks since she'd had a proper night's sleep, and when she did manage to catch a couple hours, they were filled with nightmares and panic attacks. It was almost as if her body wasn't going to let her get some peace of mind.

And that, in itself, was exactly the problem.

But as her mind pulsed with these thoughts, her body responded with a growl. Clasping her stomach she sighed - she had forgotten to eat dinner that night. Having now given up entirely on getting any sleep at all Etta slid from her bed and headed towards the kitchen.

Her apartment was rather quaint, only one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen and living room adjoined at the front. She didn't need the extra space, seeing how she barely spent much time there anyways, so it was perfect in her eyes. In the fridge she kept rarely anything more than a couple beers and some miscellaneous fruits and vegetables, and occasionally, like today, a jug of milk.

"Cereal it is," she muttered to herself, grabbing the jug before rummaging through the kitchen for a bowl, a spoon, and the cereal box. She barely glanced at the label - most likely something with 'bran' and 'wheats' in the title - before dumping almost half the contents into her bowl. After drowning it in milk, she made her way to the couch where her laptop awaited her on the coffee table.

Taking a few bites, she opened the laptop to reveal a government login, the words "Department of Defense" heading the page. With barely a glance at the keyboard, she typed in her password and continued on to a search bar.

The clock clicked on from one to two, then two to three, as Etta pounded away on her keyboard, trying different combinations of the words "flesh, Kruger, Montana, and homicides" over and over.

"Local man found dead near trails," she read off the screen. "Witnesses say they saw the man's flesh disappear before their very eyes." She'd thought that maybe saying it aloud would have made it easier to understand, but instead it just served to make her apartment feel smaller than it already was.

However, just as she'd opened a new article, this one entitled "Dr. J. Kruger, Known Experimentalist", her comm began vibrating next to her.

"Bishop," she said as she answered.

"Agent Bishop?" asked the man on the other line. "We need you at the office. We've got a live one."

"I'm on my way."

* * *

It wasn't more than fifteen minutes - she purposely bought the closest apartment to the Bureau possible - before she was entering through the doors to Fringe Division.

"Bishop. Good, you're here," said a low voice from behind her.

She turned and smiled at Colonel Broyles, her boss of now approaching three and a half years. His face had aged well, she'd always thought, still having gentle eyes but a hard exterior. Although he liked to act tough and formal most of the time, Etta would always know him as her Uncle Phil.

"Never late," she quipped back, falling into step with him as he marched down the hallway passed her.

The main entrance to the Fringe Division was kind of a wonder, especially disorienting the first few times she'd visited as a child. The walls were a grey steel colour and housed about fourteen different hallways. Each lead to a different sector within the Division: Biology Laboratory, Weapons Investigations, Abductions and Terrorist Threats, and more. However, as Etta had expected, she and Broyles made their way to the very last hallway, its plaque reading "Suspect and Criminal Interrogations".

"I assume you've updated yourself on the case," Broyles said as they reached a door at the end of the hallway.

"Yeah, on the way here."

"Perfect." He opened the door and led her into a dark cement room, where there were only two things: a door and a large rectangular window. "I'm afraid this isn't going to be an easy one, Bishop."

Etta took a few steps towards the window and peered into the room where a man sat in front of a metal table. He had scraggly hair, as if he hadn't bathed in over a month and the grease was holding onto his roots like its life depended on it. It seemed like he might have been living on the streets for a while too, as he had an impressive beard of red hair and his clothes had definitely seen better days.

"Has he said anything yet?" She asked, looking back at Broyles.

"Nothing yet," he answered, staring straight ahead. "I was hoping you might be able to help us with that, though."

"How's that?" She asked with furrowed brows, not sure what he was getting at.

"Well, we believe it's possible that the man in there knows you."

"What? I've never met him before in my life." She looked back at the man who was now tearing apart a paper cup, and shook her head. "How could he possibly know me?"

At this point Broyles lost his typical composure and looked down at her with worry sketched into his brow, concern evident on his face.

"He asked for you," he said bluntly. "He asked for Henrietta Dunham Bishop."

* * *

"How's this possible?" Etta demanded, chewing through her thumb nail. "Is he like, some kind of stalker or something?"

"I don't know, luv," her partner, Simon, said as he flipped through a file. "Perhaps you've just forgotten that you met him."

"No, that's not possible." _I don't forget anything_, she added to herself.

"Well I don't know what to tell you, dear, except that you're only wasting time pacing around like a lunatic."

"Well I'm sorry if I'm a little rattled," she spat, now pacing in front of Simon's desk, her thumb almost chewed through to the bone.

"Perhaps he just heard you're name on the news, or summat."

"He called me Henrietta _Dunham_ Bishop," she said, stopping momentarily as she thought. "The only person whoever calls me that is my mother. My birth certificate and badge even read Henrietta Ella Bishop. No _Dunham_."

She scrunched up her eyebrows again as she tried to think around the problem.

"Why would he call me that?"

"I don't know, luv, I just don't know."

She paced back and forth for what seemed like hours as Simon clicked away at his computer, her mind spinning for answers.

"You know what sucks the most?" she asked rhetorically. "It's that Broyles brings me in here at three _in the morning_ to tell me some psycho wants to talk to me, but guess what? I'm not even allowed to interview him yet! No instead, I have to wait until the bloody board approves me for investigation. What's the point of being an agent in this fucking Division if I can't really do anything?"

"Once you graduate from being a Junior Agent, it'll be fine, dear," Simon said, glancing up over his computer screen. "You just need to be patient."

"Screw being patient," she barked, glancing over at Broyles' office. She watched through his glass walls as he turned in his seat to go look in his filing cabinet, and as his back was to her, she made a swift exit from their Department and beelined it to the interrogations rooms, hearing Simon yelling something along the lines of "I don't think this is a good idea".

"Agent Crowley," she greeted the attendant who was watching over the suspect as she entered the interrogation room. "I'll take it from here."

"But Broyles said no one in there until-"

"Don't worry about it," she spoke with certainty. "It's already been cleared."

"Whatever you say," grumbled the agent, leaving Etta to herself in the windowed room.

Taking in a deep breath, Etta stared at the man behind the glass. Was it strange that she didn't even feel the slightest pang of familiarity? Her instincts were always her strongest asset, and yet here, when she most needed them, they told her nothing. Perhaps this man had simply heard her name somewhere, maybe overheard a conversation between her mother and a colleague or something. Or maybe he'd been someone from her childhood, the years before she could remember.

Whatever it was she was certain there was a logical explanation. Although Fringe Division was rarely awarded such a courtesy, she had to have hope.

Sucking in one last breath, steeling herself for the inevitable, she entered the room.

"Alright, Mr. No-Name," she announced as she walked in, nodding slightly at the bearded man. "Let's get right to it, hmm?"

The man simply stared at her, his black beady eyes revealing nothing. She was momentarily taken aback by his composure.

"Well, I'm here." She waved her hands around, presenting herself. "What is it then? How the hell do you know who I am?"

There was a pause as the man seemed to stare at her in wonder.

"You're Henrietta? Henrietta Dunham Bishop?" He asked eyes wide.

"Err, yes," she said, confused as to why he seemed so shocked. "But I'd prefer Agent Bishop."

"I'm sorry," he spoke, craning his head to the side. "For some reason I pictured you younger."

"Well unfortunately you're stuck with me." She pressed her hands to the table, staring him down. "Where did you hear that name? Dunham?"

"From a friend," he answered cryptically. "That is your name is it not?"

"No, in fact, it's not," she answered, her eyes furrowing to slits. "I go by Bishop, and only Bishop."

He nodded seemingly to himself, his hands shaking as his eyes flitted across the room. It was odd, the way he presented himself, scared yet confident. Generally, Etta thought herself a pretty good judge of character, which her father reminded her every day she got from him. But this man stumped her. The way he chewed at this nails made her think he was nervous, perhaps anxious. And yet the way he spoke, the way he carried himself, lead her to believe he wasn't nervous at all: this was precisely where he wanted to be.

"Now that we've heard so much about me, how about you, hmm?" She pulled out the chair across from him as she said this, raising an eyebrow in question. "What's your name?"

"That's not important," he answered immediately, his eyes shifting from side to side.

"Oh, but you see, that's where we disagree." She flashed a small grin, wondering if maybe it was a game, and all she needed to do was deal herself in. "I don't know who you are, where you came from, or how you even know who I am, so obviously, I'm at a little bit of a disadvantage here. And I'll let you in on a little secret: I don't like to lose."

"You're scared, aren't you?" Etta glared as the man seemed to regain some of his earlier confidence. "He said you might be."

"Who said I might be?"

The gears in her head began to churn, spinning off their programmed course to wrap around this strange man's story. What could he possibly _want_ from her? Who was his friend? And why was all this happening? For the first time in a long time she had one resounding thought: her mother would know what to do.

"My friend."

"Yeah, I know." She cursed under her breath and sat back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. "So what, this _friend_ of yours knows me?"

"He knows you very well, indeed." He seemed to deflate suddenly after that statement, his eyes flicking around the room again, not concentrating on one corner or another. She wanted to shake him, _force_ him to tell her what the hell he meant. He wasn't giving her anything; all he had were more cryptic answers.

"So who is he then, hmm? Some pervy stalker or something?" She was frustrated now, leaning towards him, her face growing hot. "What does he want with me? Is this a threat or something? Some sick twisted _joke_?!"

With the last syllable she slammed a fist into the metal table, her anger bubbling over into rage. She couldn't contain herself, she just needed to _know_.

"You ask a lot of questions," he said, chewing on one of his nails, his eyes still flicking around in their sockets. "A lot of questions indeed."

"Of course I have _questions_!" she yelled. "But you haven't given me any damn answers! If you want to get out of here any time soo-"

"Agent Bishop!"

Etta flinched at the sound from behind her, having not even heard the door open during her rant. She turned slowly to the voice, gulping and knowing she wouldn't want to see what came next.

"My office, _now_," Olivia Dunham - her mother - demanded, standing in the doorway, hands on her hips.

"Yes ma'am," she muttered down to the floor, embarrassed how even at work her mother could make her look like an utter fool.

Olivia was holding the door open for her and she slipped out of the floor, flashing one last look back at the bearded man, who didn't seem at all phased by recent events and had returned to ripping apart his paper cup. She followed her mother down the hall, where she made a swift right towards the second entrance down the hall. Neither of them said a word as their heels clacked against the tiled flooring, looking like a prison guard escorting a criminal to the gas chamber. She gulped a few times, trying to push down the lump in her throat that threatened to announce her weakness to the world.

Finally, after catching a few curious glances from the other agents at their cubicles – Simon in particular who tried to mouth "what happened?" in her direction – they finally arrived at a door that read 'Special Agent Olivia Dunham'.

"After you," her mother said coldly, opening the door for her daughter.

"Thanks."

The inside of her mother's office never failed to amaze her. Whereas Colonel Broyles' office was organized to the very last paper clip, the only humanizing thing being a framed photo of his son, Olivia's was something of a shrine to the Bishop family. The walls were covered in framed photos of her parent's wedding and Christmas photo-shoots of all three of them, decked out in red and green sweaters. The best part was all the photos that weren't framed: a vast collection of photo booth tabs from before Etta was born, worn polaroids from the park at Harvard University, or quick snapshots that Agent Farnsworth had taken in the lab. There were even a few of Walter and Peter, both old and young. By far Etta's favourite part of the room was to the left of her mother's desk, however, where she kept her few drawings. Some were Etta's that she'd done as a little girl, typical house and stick figures, but the best was one Olivia had done.

It was a detailed sketch of Peter, her father, looking as if he was peering into your soul. It was Etta's favourite though, not because of the detail or its artistic value, but because of the story her mother always attached to it. "The power of love," her father would always say, smiling at his two favourite girls. Had her mother not drawn that photo after seeing Peter in her dreams, had not shown it to her grandfather, perhaps little Etta never would have come to be. Perhaps their life never would have been as it was.

"The power of love," she whispered to herself as she laid a hand on the sketch, sighing to herself.

"What were you thinking?" her mother barked, pulling her from her reverie.

"I was _thinking_ that I needed answers," she responded, walking away from the wall to stand a few feet from her mother, prepared for the shouting match that was surely to come.

"And that's how you do it? By going behind Broyles' back?" Her mother huffed and went to sit behind her desk, shuffling a few papers around as she did. "If you'd just listen to me for once you wouldn't keep getting into these awful messes with the board-"

"I wouldn't be even on the board's radar if it wasn't for you!"

"Do not blame your situation on where you came from. That's no excuse."

"Really? Because I think it's a pretty God damn good one-"

"If your father could hear you speak to me like this-"

"Don't pull the Dad card every time you want to get out of a fight!" Etta yelled, her cheeks blushing in anger. "He'd be on my side anyways! He always is!"

"You need to learn to respect authority, Henrietta. You'll only dig yourself a bigger grave if you keep this type of behavior up!"

"Nothing even happened! I didn't even get anything _from_ the guy," she retorted, her youth becoming shockingly evident in her voice.

"Well good, because anything you would have gotten would have been void anyways. You _know_ that. You're a better agent than this."

Her mother's face softened a bit at these last words, perhaps having realized how harsh she might have sounded. She looked up at her daughter with sad eyes, trying to convey whatever maternal knowledge she thought she had.

"I know I may seem cruel sometimes, but I promise you, Henrietta, that I'm only looking out for you," she spoke softly. "I just want to know that you'll be okay."

"Yeah, well - _again_ - look how well that turned out," she grumbled, crossing her arms and looking up at the ceiling. "I bet Broyles will be giving out awards by the end of the week."

"Can we _please_, just once, not bring that up-"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

There was a long silence between the two of them as they each thought of what to say next, what might not deteriorate the situation any further.

"I just…" Etta spoke, her voice a little shaken. "I just want to know what this guy wants with me, you know? Why he has an interest in me specifically."

"I know, Etta, so do I."

"Could you-" she cut herself off momentarily, trying to think of how to phrase this. "Do you think, maybe, you could just not tell Broyles about this?"

"I don't know, Etta, it's my job-"

"But mom, _please_," she said, desperate. "I know he needed to wait for whatever politics this bureau runs on, but I beg of you. Please don't let them come down on me again. I can't afford it."

"I know, Etta, I know."

She sighed into her hands, rubbing her eyelids with her palms.

"Okay, I won't tell him," she said, speaking through clasped hands. "But we'll talk more about this at home, okay?"

"Okay."

And with that, she exited the office, hopeful that maybe this time, her mother wouldn't come between her and the job.

* * *

"Hey, honey," her father said as he answered the door, kissing her once on the cheek. "You're early."

"Is that okay?" she asked, carrying in the plate of veggies she'd picked up from the store on her way here.

"Of course it is," he said sweetly, leading her into the kitchen. "I'm making your favorite: chicken pot pie."

"Dad," she laughed as she took a seat at the small wooden table across from the window. "That's not my favorite. That's _yours_."

"Oh, well, what a shame."

He grinned like a child as he flicked some water at her, causing them both to laugh out loud. He smiled once more at his daughter before continuing on to his dinner preparations, slicing carrots and potatoes on a wooden cutting board.

"How was the lab today?" she asked as she flipped through newspaper that was on the table, the headline reading 'Governor Donald Trump to Retire'.

"Good. Quiet, but good," he responded, popping a carrot into his mouth. "Astrid spent most of the day decoding those messages from the Experimentalists, so there wasn't much for me to do. I spent most of the day looking over some of Walter's files, seeing if anything connected."

"Yeah, you never know," she said, quoting something they tended to say a lot. In this business, you really never did know.

"How about you?" he asked, chipper. "Kick anyone's ass today?"

"I wish," she scoffed. "Got mine kicked more like it."

"By who? Not Simon, I assume? You could totally take that Aussie."

She laughed but shook her head.

"No, by mom," she said soberly.

"Ah, I see," was all he said, staring down at the cutting board. "And what were my ladies fighting about this time?

"Well," Etta drawled, biting at her thumb nail again. "I may have, _sort of_, broken protocol again," she said, but adding really quickly, "but for a _really_ good reason, I swear."

"I don't doubt you had your reasons, Etta," he said, his voice falling into a paternal drawl. "But I do have a hard time understanding why you insist on pushing these buttons. Eventually it's going to come and bite you in the ass, you know."

"I know, I know," she repeated, dropping her chin into her hand. "I just hate in when Mom's right."

He laughed at this, looking up at her.

"Funny, I think you guys have that in common."

"Have what?" she asked, why creased eyebrows.

"Stubbornness."

Just as these words left his mouth, the front door opened with a creek, her mother's distinctive heels clacking against the linoleum in the entrance.

Peter laughed as he quickly wiped his hands on a towel, making his way to the door.

"We were just talking about you," he said, giving his wife a welcoming kiss as she removed her coat and blazer.

"Were you now." She smiled into the kiss and Etta's heart leapt at the sight. It was these precious moments, just watching the two of them, that she treasured most. "It wasn't another one of your stories was it? I told you, you might give her nightmares."

"Thankfully, no," Etta said, as the two of them joined her in the kitchen. "I don't think I could handle another detailed excerpt from Polivia: The Early Years."

"Polivia?" Her father laughed, returning to his station in the kitchen. "Where'd you come up with that?"

"Oh, I didn't," she said with a smirk. "It's what all the Juniors in the department call you guys. You're practically celebrities."

"Perfect, just what I need," Olivia said sarcastically, rolling her eyes and she uncorked a bottle of red wine. "Wine?" she asked the both of them.

"None for me," Peter said as he lifted his beer.

"Yeah, I'll have a glass," chirped Etta, getting up from her seat to grab some place mats for the table. "Mom? Can you grab the cutlery too?"

"Sure, dear," she responded as she handed her daughter her glass, filled half way with wine.

They continued on like this for another thirty minutes, chatting about the day as they set the table and prepared for dinner. The smells of the pot pies began to fill the air slowly as they progressed through their individual days, today's news, and their plans for the weekend.

"I just hope we don't get called in again this weekend," her mother complained, running a hand through her hair. "I've been waiting on a couple days off for ages now."

"I know what you mean," Etta agreed, nodding and taking a sip from her glass.

"Well I say," Peter said, "if Broyles does decide to cut the Bishops some slack this weekend, we go on a little outing."

"An outing?" Etta was a little unconvinced, knowing that typically whenever they tried to have anything resembling 'family time' it usually just ended with a shouting match between herself and her mother. "Where?"

"Well what about Reiden Lake? We haven't been there in forever," piped Olivia, settling down into a seat across from Etta.

"Perfect, Reiden Lake it is." Peter smiled, pulling the baked pot pies from the oven.

"I don't know…" muttered Etta, a little wary of the whole plan.

"It'll be great, trust me," her father promised, finally setting out the meal between his two girls. "It'll be just like old times."

_Yeah, right_, she thought to herself. _Just like old times. Super._

"Now without further ado ma' ladies… Enjoy!"

With that decided, the Bishops spent the rest of the night pretty much at ease, Olivia and Etta's fight seeming to have been pushed aside for that one moment, that one evening of peace. But yet, at the back of her mind, Etta couldn't help but think back to the bearded man behind the glass, and all he had to say.

For some reason, she got the feeling that nothing was quite as it seemed.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed! Reviews make me happy :)**


	2. When You're Ready

**AN- **Thanks to everyone who left a reviewed, followed, or favourite this story. You can't begin to imagine how happy that makes me, especially as this is my first Fringe fanfic. Fair warning, I'm both Canadian and a business major, so all the Department of Defense talk is just what I could learn from the series, so if there's some discrepancies feel free to let me know, I'll try my best Same thing goes with all the science, just try not to laugh at my pathetic effort to be legit. Anyways, without further ado, here's Chapter Two, enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Two**

**When You're Ready**

* * *

_Department of Defense, Fringe Building_

The next day, after sleeping on her parent's guest bedroom, Etta had gotten a call around six o'clock in the morning from Broyles to come in, as she'd finally been approved to run the investigation. She had sighed in relief, silently thanking her mother for not ratting her out last night, and had made her way to the office, grabbing coffees on the way.

"Morning, Simon," she said as she marched into the building, dropping off a coffee on his desk as she walked by. "Any news?"

"On the Kruger case? Nah," he responded, rubbing his eyes. "I spent almost four hours on the bloody telephone last night trying to get a hold of a real live human being at that study centre, but no such luck."

"It's a dangerous job, but someone's gotta do it."

She set her bag down at her desk, flipping through a couple files that seemed to have been put there overnight.

"Is this the info on mystery man?" she asked, flipping through the fingerprint report which had reported absolutely nothing. It appeared this man was indeed a mystery.

"Yeah, came in bright and early this morning," Simon said, nodding. "Broyles said after you checked it out he wanted to see you in his office."

"Right," she took another quick scan before putting the file back down, nodding at Simon, and heading to Broyles' office.

In normal circumstances she would have been glad to finally get a chance to do something in the office, as after all her Junior status turned everyday tasks into grand demonstrations of acrobatics. But this time around she was already aware that the suspect wasn't going to give her anything, and on top of that, she knew if he so much as hinted to the fact that they'd spoken before she'd be lucky to keep her badge.

"Agent Bishop," greeted her superior as she knocked gently on the open door.

"Good morning, Colonel Broyles."

"As good as they can get in this department," he joked, his face still stern and solemn. Ever the optimist, Phillip Broyles.

"I suppose that's accurate, sir."

"Agent I assume you know what comes next," he started, clasping his hands in front of him on his desk. "It's absolutely pertinent that we discover this man's identity as he appears to know much more than we initially thought. Under normal circumstances, I would recuse you from a case that you may be involved in in some way, but the board has decided we have no other choice. Your connection to the man, whatever that may be, may become useful to us in discovering who he is and why he knows so much classified information."

"Classified information, sir?"

"He seems to have a vast knowledge of past Fringe cases," Broyles explained, flipping open a file and pushing it towards her. "Mostly early work: David Robert Jones, the ZFT, some of the chemical compounds behind the bigger weapons we've investigated."

Etta flipped through the pages, most of the reports written by the head agent at the time. She stopped after the fifth one, which described the strange beast-like creatures that a group of extremists were transforming into.

"They're all my parent's cases," she whispered, looking up at Broyles.

"That's right. Every single case he's referenced so far has been limited to the ones Agent Dunham, your father, and Walter Bishop worked on." At this his faced turned graver, if that was at all possible. "I'm afraid we don't know why he's focused on that particular Fringe team, but it may explain why he knows you, Agent Bishop."

She stared down at her mother's signature at the bottom of the page, thoughts running through her head.

"Right, well, let's get on with it then, hmm?"

With that said, the two of them made their way down to the interrogation room, her heart hammering inside her chest. Not only did this stranger seem to know who she was, he also knew her parents. And it didn't stop there. Whatever this man's goal was, whatever he wanted to accomplish by doing all this, it all just seemed to baffle her further as more information was made available.

Finally they arrived in the cement room, both she and Agent Broyles standing behind the glass, peering in at the bearded man.

"How exactly was he apprehended?" she asked.

"That's the strangest part," Broyles said, crossing his arms as he watched the man in the other room. "He just walked into a police station downtown, saying he needed to talk to the Fringe Division. At first, the officers on duty thought he was just unstable, but when they kept him over night and he started rambling about classified projects, they thought it a good idea to make a phone call. With Fringe cases making the media so often nowadays, it seemed like a logical step."

"Seems weird," Etta said, her eyes narrowing as the man chewed at his nails, looking frantically around the room. "That he'd just turn himself in, you know? He obviously knew they'd assign me to him, that he'd be too important just to ignore. He wanted this to happen."

"It appears that way." Etta straightened her blazer and made way to the door. "Agent Bishop," he interrupted, stopping her. "Remember: we need information about him. Don't let him turn the focus on you."

She nodded and entered the room, feeling her heart practically trying to leap from her chest.

"Hello again," said the man, his head cocked slightly to the side.

"All right, let's get right to it, shall we?" she said quickly, hoping to God that Broyles had missed that and wasn't about to come marching in, demanding an explanation. She held her breath just in case.

"Whatever you'd prefer, Henrietta."

His voice was haunting, almost as if he spoke each word to burrow under your skin and wrap around her, inside out. She pursed her lips and glanced quickly to the mirror, not sure how to proceed. If she acted like they'd never met before, she might confuse him, but if she acted like they _had_ she feared losing her job.

For once in her life, she felt like she wasn't cut out for this line of work.

"Right, so can you tell us your name, sir?" she asked, pulling out the seat and feeling a strange sense of déja-vu.

"This is not about me, young Henrietta," he said, his head cocking to the side once again.

"Oh but it is," she whispered, trying her best to sound menacing. "You see, I'm not the one in custody right now, am I? No, that's you. And if we so choose to, we don't have to keep bringing you water, and eventually, we don't even have to bring you food if we don't want to. So I _suggest_ that you cooperate." She took a pause as she stared him down, trying to gauge his reaction. "Now, I'll ask again, what is your name?"

"You thirst for knowledge," he said simply, his eyes seeming to glow as they steadied on her, the first time she'd seen them still since she'd first interrogated him. "Must be in your blood."

"My parents? You know my parents, don't you?" she asked, frantic, eyes wide and curious.

"In one way or another, yes, I suppose so."

His eyes began to flit across the room again, his hands coming to clasp in front of his face. She couldn't handle this behaviour, one minute he was lucid and seeming to be telling her something vital, and the next he could barely look at her.

"_Sir_," she said firmly, trying to grab his attention. "What's the matter? Why do you do that?"

"Do what, young Henrietta?" His eyes snapped back to her, but only for a moment as they returned to their frantic behaviour.

"Agent Bishop," she corrected, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "That thing – with your eyes – why do you do that? Are you sick?"

"Sick, no," he said with a smile, almost a laugh. "It's simply an aftereffect, I'm afraid."

"An aftereffect?" she pressed.

"From my travels," he answered, nodding as he stared off at the right hand corner.

"Your travels? From where?" She continued to push him, hoping this was what Broyles was looking for. Though she couldn't help but get caught up in this man's strange connection to her family, she knew she'd gotten back on track. "Where are you from?"

"In due time, Henrietta, in due time."

She huffed and glared at him, her face growing red again. Etta made a swift glance at the mirror, wondering what Broyles thought of this strange conversation.

"You see, Whatever-Your-Name-Is, my boss is standing behind that glass watching us right now." The words had come out of her mouth before she'd had much time to process them and without thinking much of it, she continued on her thought. "And well, he's watching _us_, but more specifically he's watching _me._ I'm already on thin ice, you see, and one more mark on my record and I might not have a job here anymore."

She paused to lean forward, resting her weight on her forearms.

"And if I understand you right, what you want is _me_. But the problem is, if I don't work here anymore, you'll be left in custody talking to all these other wonderful agents, but most definitely not _me_." She searched him with her eyes, seeing if she'd hit any nerves. "So, if I'm right, I think you _will_ give me your name, because in the end, I'm what you want."

Etta watched as his eyes traveled around the room, not stopping on any one thing, not looking her directly in the eyes. However, amidst the strange chaos that seemed to be this mind, Etta swore she saw a faint sparkle of comprehension. She had him.

"I'll ask one last time: what is your name?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, his body still, his eyes whirling.

"I'm sorry, young Henrietta, but when you're ready, you'll know."

* * *

_Harvard University, Boston_

The doors made a rough scratching noise as she pushed her way into basement lab, the immediate scent of chemicals and bodily fluids hitting her all at once. Slightly gagging, she pulled down her sleeve and covered her mouth with her hand, continuing into the room more cautiously now.

"What on earth is that smell?" she complained through her sweater, approaching Agent Farnsworth, who seemed to be examining a body.

"Sorry, it's this new body Peter took in yesterday," Astrid said, gesturing towards the man – mid-twenties, brown hair, blue eyes, medium build – that was laying on the table before her. He looked almost completely normal, except for the completely disturbing fact that his skin was gone. He was simply a mass of muscle and bones, like a strange mannequin you'd see at one of those science expos. "It's supposedly another Kruger victim. Hearts missing too, just like the others. We don't know how he does it. There's no signs of incisions anywhere, granted it would be a lot easier if he'd been left with his skin."

"It's never easy in this line of work," Etta commented, trying to get a closer look, still covering her nose and mouth. "See how his eyes are kind of glassed over?" She pointed at his blue eyes that appeared almost to have been replaced with clouds. "It's just like the other victims."

"Also no further on identifying what exactly did this to him," Astrid continued. "The witnesses stated that they saw the flesh just 'disappear', but that seems really hard to believe. However, at this point, his skin very well could have disappeared, it's too early to tell."

"Well keep me posted," Etta said. "You'll figure it out eventually."

"We've managed to identify him too." Astrid removed her gloves and walked over to a nearby table where she retrieved a folder, opening it to the first page. "His name is Drake Henry. Graduate Student at MIT, visiting New York for reading break. He has two brothers, both older, and his parents live locally, actually. Here in Boston."

"Convenient," she said, knowing however that she was well overdue for some good luck. "Well text me the address and I'll head over there, ask them some questions." She wrinkled her nose, the smell becoming less noticeable but still making her feel a little bit nauseous. "Dad in the back?"

"Yeah, in his office," she said, nodding towards the door at the back of the lab.

"Thanks, Astrid."

She glanced one last time at the body, shivering and wondering when this became acceptable. It seemed since the first day, she'd seen another incredible and inexplicable thing each day. Flesh evaporating off a person's body? That was just another one to add to the list.

"Dad?" she called into the office, pushing open the door, narrowly avoiding knocking over a pile of papers stacked on the floor. "Did you ever think that maybe it's time to clean this place up a little bit?" She picked up the stack of papers, the paper on top looking like a copy of the ZFT Manifesto. "Going through old cases again?"

"Hey honey," he father said, almost tripping over the mess as he made his way towards her, kissing her on the cheek in greeting. "Yeah, I was looking over that earlier. Thought I saw something that might relate to Kruger."

"And?" she pressed, placing the stack on his desk, which seemed surprisingly bare compared to the mess that took over most of the floor.

"Nothing," he said, deflated. "Just a coincidence." He moved toward his white board at the back of room, where he had pictures of notable Experimentalist tacked up next to different Fringe events connected by a series of different strings. Dr. J. Kruger's photo was at the very top, his name written in dark black permanent marker. "I made another connection with Kruger and another school. Seems he was also running trials at Princeton, on top of his sessions at Yale, Harvard, and MIT among others."

"Did you say MIT?" she asked, going to stand next to him as they both looked up at the board. "Our vic went there. Graduate student."

"Well it stands to reason," he said, nodding. "He probably signed up for a harmless psych experiment, was promised a little bit of cash, and was instead lead into one of Dr. Kruger's experiments. He wouldn't have been aware that anything was up."

Etta shook her head, frustrated. "It's infuriating, isn't it? How we know so much about how he goes about getting to his victims and yet he still manages to slip from our fingertips."

"If we know anything about how the Experimentalists run, it's that they won't be found unless they want to be," Peter said, rubbing his growing stubble as he stared at the photos. "So maybe we just have to give them reason to want to."

Etta glanced at her father, nodding in understanding. It seemed hopeless at times, but they had to come out victorious. Didn't they?

"I'm going to interview the parents, want to come?" she asked.

"Sure." He turned away from the board, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. "We'll have to pick up your mother on the way though."

* * *

"Mr. Henry?" Etta asked as a man, around his forties, answered the door. His hair line was receding and he was wearing a snug sweater vest, showing his slight beer belly. He was perfectly suburban.

"Yes, that's me," he said, seeming nervous. "Is this about Drake?"

"I'm afraid so, sir." She extended a hand for a handshake. "I'm Junior Agent Bishop with the Department of Defense and these are my colleagues, Peter Bish-" she paused for a moment, realizing how strange this would sound. "These are my colleagues, Peter Bishop and Special Agent Dunham. We're here to ask a couple questions about your son."

"Oh, right, of course. Come in."

Etta felt a little foolish after the introduction, just realizing how strange it was that she took her parents with her to work. Maybe she needed to revaluate the way she worked with her parents. Sure, they were probably the best at what they did, but that didn't mean she had to use them all the time…. Right?

"Thanks for giving up a little of your time to speak with us, Mr. Henry," Olivia said kindly, hands in her jacket pockets as the three of them followed Mr. Henry into the main living room. They were led to some cream leather couches, Olivia and Henrietta taking their seats while Peter seemed to examine a few trinkets on the fireplace mantel.

Mr. Henry sat across from them in a brown chair, picking up his coffee mug from the table.

"It's no problem, really. Anything to help the investigation." He smiled sadly, appearing a little shaken and jittery. "Can I offer you anything to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

"We're fine thank you," stated Etta, not wanting to waste much more time. "Now, Mr. Henry, when was the last time you saw your son?"

"Right before he went missing," he said slowly, taking a sip from his mug. "He'd come over for Friday dinner. He does—_did_ every two weeks. To make his mother happy, I think. He was a good boy, Drake."

"Did he seem at all different that night, Mr. Henry?" asked her mother. "Anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, not that I can remember. He seemed perfectly normal. Just like he always was."

Etta leaned in, clasping her hands over her knees.

"Did your son ever mention anything about experimental trials he might have been participating in? While he was at school maybe?"

"No, never," he answered, seeming honestly shocked at the question. "Why? Does that have something to do with how he died?"

"We're not sure yet. It might have though," Etta said, searching the man for any clues. There were none.

"If you think of anything, anything at all, please contact us." Olivia handed Mr. Henry her business card and Etta watched the exchange with narrowed eyes. Again, her mother had managed to dominate the situation.

"Oh I will. Thank you." He smiled, taking another sip of his coffee before glancing quickly at the digital clock hanging on the wall. "Now if that's all for today, I have some errands to run. Thank you so much for stopping by."

"Thank you for trying to help us, Mr. Henry," Etta said as she shook his hand.

Just as she and Olivia were prepared to leave, however, Peter spoke up.

"Mr. Henry, where's your wife?"

There was a long silence.

"At work," he responded, a small smile. "I was laid off recently, so she works extra shifts at the hospital to make up for it. She's a nurse."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Must be tough."

But Peter's face didn't look at all sorry. He was frowning as he glanced at a particular photo on the mantel before smiling slightly, and nodding to the man.

"Thanks for having us, sir," he said, before following Olivia and Henrietta from the house.

"What was that all about?" Etta asked as they closed the doors to the SUV, Peter in the driver's seat.

"I think he's lying about something," he said, simply, starting the car and pulling out onto the street.

"What about? He seemed all right to me."

"The pictures he had. They were all of them from about six years ago and before. None of his son on his first day of college, nothing like that." Olivia's and Etta's attentions were both caught at this. "Plus, there were only a few of his wife and him together since the boy was a baby. I have a feeling they're separated."

"So why wouldn't he just tell us that? Why the lying?"

"Because there's something he wants to hide," Olivia said quietly, pondering the problem herself. "Somehow, his separation has something to do with his son's death. We just have to find out how."

That night, when she returned to her empty apartment, Etta couldn't help but wonder how all this related to one another. Was there something she was missing? The bearded man, did he have something to do with the Experimentalists? Was all this connected somehow? She poured herself a glass of whiskey, a gift from her mother for her last birthday when she officially turned twenty-one. She sighed into the glass as she thought back on the day's events, thoughts still churning around in her head. She grabbed a blanket from her bed and went into the livingroom to sit cross-legged on the couch, her laptop propped on her knees.

Like most nights, she sat with a half empty glass of whiskey and a bowl of popcorn, wondering if one day her database searches might bring up something new.

Her hopes, so far, were futile.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy inside **


	3. A Different Place

**AN-** So this chapter is a little different than what we've seen so far, so hopefully you all like it. I've loved all your reviews so much, some of you are so smart and insightful, it's crazy! That being said, hopefully I can explain some of your questions in this chapter if not the next couple. I can't express how much I love constructive criticism, already you guys are keeping me on my toes! I was away most of this week, so I've been writing furiously on the plane, hopefully it's not too evident. Also I'm right in the midst of midterm season, so the stress is kind of getting to me. So again, without further ado, here's Chapter Three…

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**A Different Place**

* * *

_Elridge University, Ithaca, New York_

**T**he bell chimed as the door swept open, letting the chill winter air into the Hillside Pub. The bar top was pretty bare that night, as most students only filled the place on Thursday, when drinks were cheap and a good time was expected. A couple sat at in corner booth holding hands, a twenty-something guy sat in the middle of the bar nursing a beer, and a waitress was leaning against the kitchen door whispering something into her earcuff. Other than the four, only the bartender and the new costumer – a frat boy by the looks of it, shaking rain from his hair in the entrance – were the only occupants, their Tuesday night seeming to start here, in the emptiness of the campus pub.

"Hey, man," the bartender said to the newcomer, nodding as he wiped down a couple glasses. "Still raining I guess?"

"Yeah," he replied as he took a seat at the bar, two down from the man nursing the beer. "Doesn't look like it's gonna let up anytime soon."

"Shame. Seems like we haven't had a nice day in weeks."

"Tell me about it." He removed his coat, folding it and laying it beside him on the bar top. "All our games have been rained out. At this rate we won't have a placement by the time the Cup rolls around."

"You're an Eagles player then?"

"Yup, right-back." He nodded, flashing the patch that was sewn into his sweater, revealing the team's logo. "Coach'll probably sit me anyways during the Cup, though. He won't exactly be thrilled with my latest exam scores, if you know what I mean."

The bartender laughed at this, nodding.

"Don't we all know the feeling," he said, smiling as he placed the glass back in its place. "So can I get you anything?"

"Yeah, double of whiskey?"

"Coming right up."

The two young men were silent as the bartender grabbed a glass and bottle, pouring the drink and placing it before the frat boy.

"How much?" asked the frat boy, reaching for his wallet.

"First one's on the house," he replied, reaching below the bar to grab a plastic dish of peanuts.

"Thanks man."

"Don't sweat it."

The pub returned to its previous silence, the frat boy sipping at his drink and the bartender picking up another glass to clean. An hour or two passed before much else happened, the couple having left a while ago, the girl had giggled as her boyfriend held the door open for her. The man with the beer seemed to be growing tired as his eyes threatened to slip closed, his head bobbing towards the counter every now and then. The waitress had moved on to wiping down tables, smacking her lips as she chewed a giant wad of blue bubble gum. The bartender had called last call about ten minutes ago, and was now simply waiting for the rest of the costumers to filter out so he could return to his messy dorm room.

"'Ight," spoke up the frat boy, slurring from the drinks he'd ordered periodically over the past few hours. "I suppose I'm out. Here's a Junior for all your trouble." He slapped a twenty dollar bill down on the bar top, nodding at the bartender. "See you later, man."

The bartender nodded back at the boy, watching him as he grabbed his coat and exited the pub, daring to enter the rain once more. It took a little more convincing to get the man with the beer to leave, but after calling him a cab, it was finally just the bartender and the waitress left.

"All right," she spoke up, slipping into her peacoat. "I'm all finished here. Have a good night, Trev."

"Yeah, you too, Lisa," he said, smiling. Lisa was a pretty terrible waitress, but she was sweet. She hardly ever showed up on time, and when she did she spent most of the time on her earcuff, but she was relatively good with the costumers. And plus, it wasn't like they got a lot of resumes here. They took what they could get.

With Lisa gone, he was left in the dimly lit pub all alone, finishing up the last two dishes. Placing them in a drying rack he made his way into the kitchen, shutting off the lights and making sure the stoves hadn't been left on, and grabbing the keys from the hook by the door. His jacket sat under the bar, and after shutting off the lights in the bathrooms, he finally made it to the entrance where he pulled on his coat and swung open the doors, flicking off the main lights as he left.

Whistling a soft tune, he locked the doors behind him and headed into the night, leaving the neon sign to flicker out behind him.

He pulled on his hood as he walked across campus, mud sticking to his boots and rain pounding down around him. He could barely see straight as he marched towards a big brick building across the Quad, its long cathedral windows reflecting the moon's light and being his only proof that he was headed in the right direction. He sped up slightly as he turned on to path after path, weaving around the trees that looked so much less eerie during daylight. Finally he passed the distinct white stone of the frat village, signaling that he was close to his dormitory just two buildings down.

Just as he turned onto the boardwalk – something the students had nicknamed the path that stretched across the entire student housing – he stopped suddenly.

Though the rain obscured most of his vision, he swore that he could see a distinct shape lying on the brick path, blocking his way. From here, he could only think that it looked kind of like a person, a leg seeming to stick out to the side uncomfortably. Though he figured it was just a rogue partier who left the frat house in some state or another, he approached with caution, the weather and the dark making him feel uneasy and uncharacteristically frightened.

So he continued slowly, coming up on the form one step at time, still not being able to make out a face or figure. Finally however, he stood above the shadow and stared down at a face, a face like he'd never seen before. Which isn't to say he didn't recognize the person, because in fact, he very much did. The frat boy from the pub lay at his feet, his legs strewn in opposite directions and his eyes staring up at the night sky, a pale and shocking blue.

What made him unrecognizable, what made Trevor the bartender's stomach twist with nausea, was his skin. Because, as Trevor examined the body, shaking down to his toes, he realized something.

His skin was gone.

* * *

**B**lue and red lights flashed over the boardwalk that morning, radio sounds and overlapping chatter filling the air. A group of curious students had collected behind the yellow tape that was stretched across the path, keeping them out of the line of sight. Police men stood at the edges of the crime scene, observing but not touching. It was obvious, however, to any bystander who was really in charge.

The Fringe Division badges were something of a stamp of honour; the knowledge that that single badge meant that even the inexplicable could be contained, comforted the public with their simple presence. Trevor had always been adamant that this symbolic comfort was exactly what the Secretary of Defence had intended. Even the government needed good publicity.

"Agent Dunham!"

Trevor flinched as a man passed by him, his shout reverberating in his ear drum. He watched as the man marched towards a red haired woman standing by the covered body, Trevor's nose crinkling at the sight. He remained in his place as he watched the Fringe agents interact with one another, all of them seeming practically unfazed by the absurd case that had landed at their feet. He sometimes wondered that in that job, maybe you were just accustomed to these disturbing occurrences, that maybe at that point a body without skin wasn't nauseating, but just a typical day's work.

"Right well, call the coroner then. See what he can figure- Trevor!"

A redheaded, leather-jacket wearing Olivia Dunham Lee stopped midsentence as she passed by him, waving her colleagues away. Her badge flashed the iconic two F's, Fringe Division's logo and the world's mark of decency. She held herself with confidence, hands on her hips and a slight smile on her face. Even with her roots starting to grey a bit, she still clung to her youthful energy and easy-going attitude; she was something of a character the Fringe Division couldn't live without.

"How long have you been here?"

"Haven't left since I called 7-1-1," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. He nodded towards the body that was covered in a blue sheet, hidden from the general public. "What do you guys figure is up with that guy?"

"Not sure yet," she said, honestly, adjusting her holster as she did so. "Have you seen your father? He should be here by now."

Trevor Dunham Lee shook his head, staring at the ground. He'd always found it embarrassing that his parents were Fringe agents, practically celebrities in their time. Sure, his parents were heroes amongst society for all the protection they brought to the population, but it still made him queasy to think almost everyone knew who he was. It was why he came to rebel-infested ivy league school, worked at the campus pub, and hardly ever made any friends: he was just too embarrassed to admit to who he was.

"Maybe he went to grab something to eat," he said, scratching his brow. "All this standing around must work up an appetite."

Olivia smacked his cheek lightly and chuckled to herself. "Don't be cheeky, dear," she said, smiling. "Girls don't like sarcasm."

"Actually-"

"Don't want to hear it!" She laughed, throwing up her hands as she turned and walked back towards the body, Trevor trying to keep up.

"So? What's next?" he asked, shuffling forward, with his hands still firmly stuffed in his pockets. "You guys bring the body to the office or something?"

"To a lab," she responded, rolling up the sleeves of her jacket as she crouched down by the blue covered mass. "Here, come look."

"I don't know. That's a little out of my-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You don't want to be a Fringe agent. Trust me, I haven't forgotten." She lifted the top half of the sheet, revealing a man's head and upper torso. "Looking isn't gonna kill you though, right?"

Trevor scrunched his nose and frowned, debating whether or not that statement was true or not. He sighed, rolling his eyes at himself, as he knelt next to his mother.

"See that?" she asked, pointing at the man's eyes. "What do you see?"

"Mom, this isn't an interview for the Academy."

"Humour me," she said, pointing again at the eyes.

"I don't know," he sighed. "They're pale?"

She nodded, lifting the man's eyelids open further. "Not just pale. Practically _translucent_."

"What would cause that?" He reached out a hand as if to touch the body, but pulled back suddenly, getting a quick glimpse of the sun reflecting in the boy's eyes. "Jeezus…" he muttered to himself.

"Don't know," his mother admitted, braver than he was as she pulled open the frat boy's mouth, searching the back of his throat. "But whatever it is, he got a big chunk of it. Look."

There, between two of his molars, was what looked to Trevor like a stray piece of leftover steak.

"What is it?" he asked, staring at his mother, waiting for her to give him a better explanation.

"It's _flesh_," she answered, looking over her shoulder towards a man holding what looked like a forensic kit. "Hey, Jefferson. Tweezers?"

"Sure thing, Agent Dunham." Trevor's eyes returned to the body as the man dug through his kit, pulling out a pair of tweezers and passing them on to Olivia. She pulled out an evidence bag from her own kit as she shifted closer to the frat boy's face.

"Hold this open for me?" she asked, passing Trevor the evidence bag without looking at him. He complied and held open the bag next to her, craning his neck to watch as she pulled open the victim's mouth and stuck her hand in, tweezers at the ready. "All right, now just a little tug and…" She pulled back her hand and with it came the chunk of flesh, making Trevor gag, his lunch threatening to escape. "Stay still," she ordered, grabbing his hand to steady it.

"Just put it in already," he said, looking away and covering his mouth in an attempt to tame his churning stomach.

"All right, stop being such a child, now," she said, laughing at him. "Now, we'll just head back-"

"We'll?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at his mother as she took the evidence from him and placed in in her kit. "I've got work today, I can't exactly just up and make a day trip to NYC to fill your fantasies-"

"I've already booked you off for today," she answered, getting up and starting to walk away. "You're coming whether you like it or not!" she yelled over her shoulder.

* * *

_Fringe Headquarters, New York City_

**T**revor had to take a minute to regain his bearings as he entered the Fringe Headquarters. It looked almost just as he remembered: a semi-circle building made almost entirely of brick, a strange sight in a city made of glass. He'd always thought the building was kind of beautiful in a strange way, reminding him of some of the older buildings on campus that the Dean had deemed untouchable by new architects. Something to do with preserving our history. The strangest part, however – and even this hadn't changed since Trevor was a child – was the fact that inside the building all allusions of historical preservation were lost.

The minute you walked into the entrance you were flooded with beeping and buzzing, coming from the far wall that was entirely made of computer screens. They projected trends in the market, reports from local Fringe Divisions, federal announcements by the Secretary, etc. Passed this wall though was a long hallway lined with glass elevators, stretching up, to the side, backwards, forwards, you name it. It was almost like something straight from a science fiction novel: strange and inexplicable.

As you made your way to the seventeenth floor – Fringe Division was split into several different departments ranging throughout the floors, the seventeenth being where field agents were housed – the glass of the elevator transformed into the computer screens from the entrance, again producing the same beeping and buzzing from downstairs.

So by the time they'd stepped foot onto the seventeenth floor, Trevor had already felt like he was nine years old again, clinging onto his mother's jacket as she gave him a tour of the office. The desks were all lined up as they'd always been, agents sitting at their desks and flipping through file after file. In the middle was a large table with green lights flashing and words sliding across the screen at an impossible processing speed. Trevor recognized Agent Farnsworth in her uniform as she scanned the information, occasionally lifting her head to match the information with the large projected map on the wall across from her.

"Agent Dunham," said a low voice from Trevor's right hand side, revealing a young male agent carrying a box labeled 'Quarantine'. "I left the paperwork for this morning's homicide on your desk. The Secretary is expecting it by this evening."

"Thanks, I'll get right on that."

Trevor followed his mother to a large office that looked over the entire floor, with Olivia Dunham carved into a gold plate on the door. The room inside was nearly spotless, every last paperclip in its rightful place. The desk lit up as Olivia tapped it with her finger, a Fringe Division login screen flashing blue on the tabletop.

"What? You've never seen this before?" she asked, smiling at him as she typed in her info, noticing his wrinkled nose. "You know if you weren't so stubbornly determined to live your life without technology, you wouldn't have a culture shock every time you left the house."

"I survive just fine the way I live," he answered, his eyes narrowing on a space behind her. "All this is just the Secretary's way of inflating his own ego. We could live just as well off the grid. All of you are just one big experiment."

She shook her head at him, though she continued to look down at the words flashing across her desk. "One of your professors tell you that or did you come up with that bit yourself?"

"Not everyone who seeks knowledge is a rebel, you know. We just don't need tech in our heads to think properly."

"Don't talk like that." Her voice was light, but her eyes darkened a bit as she slid her finger over her desk, snapping from screen to screen. "No one has tech in their heads, you know that. If I didn't know better, I'd think you really were a rebel."

He folded his arms across his chest, trying not to lose his temper.

"Nothing's that black and white," he said, quiet. "This isn't a dystopian novel. It's not rebels versus Fringe Agents. It's simply a mash of ideas, one trying to overtake the other."

She paused as she typed something into her desk.

"Sounds pretty dystopian to me."

Again his eyes narrowed, but he refused to retort. They'd had this conversation many times before, both civil and heated, and each time it led to a standstill. Trevor would latch on to his beliefs, desperate to distance himself from his parents' fame. Olivia on the other hand would regurgitate her training, like the Chief of Fringe Division she'd become. It was a recipe for disaster every time the subject was so much as mentioned in passing.

"All right, paperwork done," she announced, breaking the silence. "Now that that's done, why don't we go find your father? He might be able to enlighten us as to why this flagged the Secretary's attention."

"What? He doesn't usually take special interest in cases like this?"

"No, no he doesn't."

With that said the two of them exited the office and headed towards the elevators, Olivia pushing the number fifteen as they entered.

"What's on fifteen?" Trevor asked, staring at a video replay of a robbery in Carolina that was playing on the elevator's glass wall.

"The labs," she answered, tapping the wall lightly and making it flash off, revealing its plain glass beneath it. "Your father's been spending a lot of time down there, trying to tie up some loose ends on an old case."

"And I'm guessing you think he's wasting his time?" he asked, reading her annoyed expression.

"It's not my place to say what your father should and shouldn't spend his time on."

"Aren't you his boss?"

She was silent for a moment as she stared straight ahead, hands folded in front of her.

After a moment, a smirk made its way onto her lips.

"Yes, yes I suppose I am."

The doors slid open as she said this, revealing a plain white hallway. Following it down to the very end, the two of them entered a sort of morgue, the walls lined with cabinets labeled with victims' names. Trevor only spotted a few Jane or John Does, knowing full well the Secretary's technology wouldn't allow for a whole lot of uncertainty. One of the cabinets had been rolled open, revealing what appeared to be a covered body, with the same blue sheet that had covered the frat boy that morning.

"Junior Agent Sandler," greeted Olivia, nodding at the young man in the lab coat who appeared to be examining something under a microscope. "Have you seen Agent Lee this morning?"

"Oh yeah, he's in the back, Ma'am- I mean, Agent Dunham," stammered the young agent, who couldn't have been more than a year older than Trevor himself. His hair was matted against his forehead, beads of sweat falling down the side of his face in what seemed to be extreme anxiety. Trevor wondered what kind of stress could possibly do that to a guy so young. But then he remembered what Department he was in.

"Thanks, Sandler."

Trevor followed his mother into the back room, grimacing as he caught sight of what appeared to be a live human heart, beating inside a plexi-glass box. Beside it were two jars, one with a human hand another with a coil of intestines. Both made Trevor shudder, starting to understand Junior Agent Sandler's matted hair.

"There you are," announced his mother as she entered the room ahead of him, blocking his view inside. "Why weren't you on the scene this morning?"

"Oh, yes," he heard his father say, and as he slid his way into the room, he spotted Lincoln Lee sitting at a long table, tubes and vials placed precariously together in some sort of elaborate scientific design. "I'm sorry I couldn't come. Just had to finish something up here."

"And?" she prodded, lifting her eyebrows at her husband. "Have you finished it?"

"No, not quite," he said, quietly as he removed the safety goggles from his head, turning a dial on a Bunsen burner as he did so. "Oh, Trevor," he exclaimed, spotting him the corner, eyeing a bottle labeled in some language he didn't understand. "I didn't even notice you come in."

"Mom's dragging me around again," he said, putting the bottle back in its rightful place on the shelf. "She's nursing some hope that I might fall in love with the Division before sunset, I think."

"What an easy job it is to fall in love with, too," he joked, laughing to himself and serving to displace some of the wavering tension in the room. "I heard you were on the scene this morning. You called in the event?"

"Yeah, kid came into the bar last night. Found him dead and flesh-less early this morning in front of the frat houses."

"Another student?" he asked, looking at Olivia this time.

"Seems like it," she agreed, nodding and uncrossing her arms. "Whoever's doing this, he's definitely targeting university students. Probably through experimental drug trials or something."

"I've seen a ton of flyers on campus lately about trials." Trevor spoke up, approaching the table his father was working at. "They're mostly promoting something about higher brain function, the usual crap to help you with exams. 'Take this and you'll be forty percent more focused', that kind of stuff. I see people scan their Show Mes all the time."

"The flyers are electronic?" asked Lincoln. "Isn't that unusual for a school like Elridge?"

"Not everyone at Elridge is anti-Tech." Trevor shrugged at this, thinking about some of the students in the science and engineering faculties. "Most are, don't get me wrong, but there are still a ton of clubs and events centralized around the Secretary's tech, even some worshipping the ZFT. So when someone's trying to sell something like drug trials or beta testing, generally they incorporate generic tech into sign ups or recruitment."

Both his parents seemed silent for a moment, thinking to themselves.

"Do you think there might be some rebels who could be agitated by these groups?" asked his mother, looking curiously at her son. "Maybe they decided to act out against some of the participants to make a statement?"

"By using their own tech against them? Highly unlikely," he answered, shaking his head. "There isn't a huge population of rebels at Elridge, as neutrality is generally encouraged through the faculty, but I know enough of them that I know that isn't their M.O. When they want to make a statement, they do it by some grand spectacle against tech, by degrading it and showing how without it we're better. They wouldn't use it like that. It showcases its abilities too well."

"But it also showcases how detrimental it can be." His father stood from his chair as he said this, walking out from behind his desk to join the two of them. "Maybe by using it to kill, they're showing everybody what kind of evil it can do."

"Maybe even trying to frame the scientists behind the trials," added Olivia, nodding.

"No, I don't think so."

Trevor's mind was reeling, but he was sure he was right on this. There wasn't any way that rebels could be behind this. He wasn't exactly in agreement with a lot of their actions, but he was sure they wouldn't jeopardize their credibility with the public with the chance they could get caught doing this. It just wasn't like them.

"Well, maybe you'll have to stay with us for a little longer," his mother said, and he swore he could see a tiny smile creep into her eyes. "You'd be good insider knowledge to have around."

"But I have to get back to Ithaca, the bar-"

"The bar will be fine without you." Lincoln clapped him on the shoulder, not hiding his smile as he looked down at Trevor. "Plus, it'll do you some good to spend some time in the real world. Get to know the city."

"Dad, I _hate_ the city. That's why I never come-"

"Yes, we've noticed," Olivia interrupted. "Trust me. We've noticed how our only son never visits us."

He was silent for a while as he looked between his parents, already regretting the feeling that washed over him. As much as he resented his parents work and fame, he couldn't help but love them dearly. Since a young age his parents had always allowed him to keep a free mind, even in a world that seemed to be closing in around them. Without much support from society, they'd manage to maintain a rather normal childhood for their son, and for that, he was grateful.

And for that reason alone, he would say yes.

"All right, well I'm going to need a place to stay," he said, the words feeling like lead in his mouth.

"No worries, son," his father said with a smile and a slight chuckle. "There's plenty of room at home for you."

He almost let out an audible groan as his parents smiled at him, the reality of what he'd just agreed to sinking in. Whether he liked it or not, for all intents and purposes, he'd just become what he'd most despised in the world: a Fringe Agent.

* * *

**This was a tough chapter to write, so please make me happy and review :) **

**PS: for future reference, whenever I'm writing in the AU (Red-verse) the scene will begin with a single bolded letter.**


	4. A Massive Discovery

**AN-** So here's the next chapter! I tried to help explain some of your questions, but if you have any more, feel free to ask! I've officially put off studying to write this chapter, so hopefully you all appreciate it ;) So without further ado, here's chapter four...

* * *

**Chapter Four**

**A Massive Discovery**

* * *

_Federal Building, Boston, MA_

Olivia Dunham ran her hands through her hair as she sighed into the deserted office building, releasing her pent up frustration. She'd been sitting there at her desk for hours now, wishing away the clock as she poured through file after file, write-up after write-up. Although Broyles had spoken to her and Peter separately about their newest mystery detainee, the Board had only today cleared them for investigation. It seemed nowadays that you had to jump through more hoops a day than cases you worked on in a full year, making Olivia more restless each time she had to bring something to the Board.

The Board of Generals had been put into place five years ago when Fringe Division had become a subsidiary of the Department of Defense. At first most agents who dealt with the alternate universe had been a bit weary of the idea, wondering if by mimicking some of their choices they might end up making some of their alternates' mistakes too. But yet, the new president had just been inaugurated and he immediately became a pioneer in Fringe protection, having made the division public as one of his first presidential announcements.

From that day on not only was a Fringe Division badge common place, but the Division was completely restructured according to the new Defense Act of 2032. The Chief of Fringe Division now answered to a Board of Generals, whose tasks included approving all actions made by agents of the division, overlooking restructuring efforts, and keeping the division efficient and productive. And yet, sometimes, Olivia felt they did the exact opposite.

This mystery man had classified information on cases she and Peter had both worked long ago, meaning surely she had an invested interest on solving the mystery. But, just as they always did, the Generals needed to mull over whether or not that investment meant a conflict of interest or a stronger will to succeed.

She would never understand why it took them so long to always conclude the same thing.

So now, racking up a massive overtime, she sat in the lonely offices devouring the case files they'd collected so far about the man in captivity. There was a collection of finger prints, DNA and blood tests, physical examinations, and psych evaluations all at her disposal, yet none of it revealed much. There was also a transcript of Etta's interrogation as well as some from Broyles, though the latter were mostly centered on the man asking to speak with Etta.

Most of it appeared completely useless.

She sighed again as she shut her folder, grabbing her coffee mug and making to take a sip. She glared at the bottom of her cup however as she realized it was empty, probably had been for hours.

"Great, just great-" Her muttering to herself was interrupted, however, by her phone ringing loudly beside her and shaking the desk.

The caller ID flashed the name Peter Bishop.

"Hey," she whispered into the phone, exhaustion sweeping over her.

"Hey there," he responded, worry sketched into his voice. "You didn't come home last night. Where are you?"

"I'll be home in a bit. I'm just at the office finishing up a couple things and then-"

"Olivia," he interrupted. "It's eight in the morning. You're telling me you've been at the office all night?"

"It's... What? What time is it?" She asked, scrambling to uncover the part of her computer screen that she'd covered with a sticky note. The clock read 8:17.

"It's a quarter after eight, Liv. Saturday? I was just about to start packing the truck."

There was a silence over the phone as they both breathed gently into the receivers.

"Oh," she said, hardly believing that she'd forgotten. "I completely forgot. We were going to the Lake this weekend, weren't we?"

"Yes, 'Livia, we were."

His voice sounded almost sad, but she knew him well enough that it was more concern than anything. She hated the sound of it.

"Okay, well I'll leave now and be home in twenty minutes, tops. I'll even pick up Etta on the way. Sound good?"

"All right," he said, some of the concern lifting from his voice. "See you in a bit."

As he hung up, Olivia began pushing the stacks of paper on her desk together, sliding them into a file folder marked "Suspect in Captivity: Name Unknown". It only took her another ten minutes to get her things together and head down to the parking garage, where she hopped into her black SUV and started the ignition.

When Etta was around four years old, and they'd been having talks of possibly having another little Bishop, Peter had tried to convince her that they needed to buy a proper family van. He'd even gone as far as to choose one out at the local dealership that he'd had his eye on. And although today Massive Dynamic, like most industries, had a near monopoly on automobiles and now owned almost every dealership in Massachusetts and even more in New York, back then there had still been Hondas and Toyotas. The one he'd picked out was big with sliding doors and little TV screens for the kids, cup holders that were easy to wash, and removable seat cushions. The worst part, in Olivia's opinion, was the dreadful colour. She didn't really think of herself as the kind of woman who when they went shopping for cars only saw the colour, but this one was _purple_.

And frankly, to her, no car should ever be purple.

So perhaps it'd been a blessing that the second time around they just didn't seem able to get pregnant, just so she could keep her clean and very-not-purple SUV. And although nowadays Massive Dynamic had installed virtual reality viewing in the backseat instead of TVs and spill-repellant fabric seats instead of removable ones in all their vehicles, she still felt victorious.

With all this running through her mind, she'd hardly noticed passing by street after street, eventually finding herself pulling into Henrietta's apartment parking lot, almost like she'd been on autopilot. Shaking her head to clear it, she took out the key and jumped out of the car, heading towards the lobby entrance.

When Etta had first moved into the building, Peter and Olivia had been a little considered. It wasn't exactly in the best part of town, as Etta stubbornly refused to take any money from her parents and had to settle for what she could get on a Junior Agent's salary, and frankly Olivia wasn't crazy about what drew it to her daughter in the first place. It was one thing to be dedicated to one's job - Olivia knew more than most when it came to _career tunnel vision_ - but it was another to completely revolve one's life around it. She wasn't even sure if Etta had any friends outside work, Simon being the only person that came to mind. Every so often she knew her cousin Ella took her out for drinks, but she was married with a newborn. She was hardly best friend materiel.

And yet, it was very reminiscent of "Olivia Dunham: The Early Years", so she really couldn't be too surprised. Like mother, like daughter it seemed.

When she finally reached the door with the bronze numbers 76 on the front, she knocked softly. Immediately she heard some dishes being pushed around and then feet approaching, soft and quick.

"Who is- Oh..." Etta said, shocked, as she opened the door. "Hi, mom."

"Hi," she responded, shifting on her feet and smiling weakly. "You ready to go?" She pointed towards the hallway with her thumb. "Dad's waiting for us at home."

"Ready to go..?" The same blank expression Olivia had felt herself wear earlier crossed her daughter's face as she tried to think through what her mother meant, having obviously forgotten too. Like mother like daughter indeed.

"Reiden Lake? Your dad's big plans?"

"Oh my god," she gasped, turning suddenly back to her apartment and bolting towards her bedroom. "I totally forgot!" she yelled from the other side of the wall as Olivia heard frantic movements and clothes being thrown about.

"I'm just going to call Peter and tell him we will be a little late!" Olivia yelled back, taking out her phone from her pocket. They had this new technology where you could have a phone in your contact lens and then it wire to a piece in your ear - at least that was the simplified explanation she'd been given by Nina - but Olivia preferred the comfort of a simple handheld. Both Etta and Peter seemed to think the same.

The phone only rang twice before he answered.

"Let me guess," he began without so much as a hello. "She forgot too."

"Well can you honestly tell me you expected differently?" She asked, with a smile in her voice.

"No," he said with a chuckle. "But I always hope a little."

"Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you married a Dunham, need I remind you," she joked, making herself a spot on the couch in the main room.

"Need I remind you that you were the one that got knocked up. 'S not my fault I had to be a gentleman and propose."

"Ooh you are so not getting any ton-"

"Ready!" interrupted a frazzled looking Etta, effectively killing her mother's suggestive comment.

"Oh she's just finished packing," Olivia said to Peter over the phone. "We should be there in ten minutes."

"Okay," he responded. "See you in a bit. Love you."

She paused for a moment before answering, lingering on the sound of it.

"Love you too."

Tapping the screen, she hung up to a silent room. Etta was staring at her, her eyebrows furrowed and concentrated.

"What?" asked Olivia, standing from the couch, her phone limply held in her left hand.

"Nothing, it's-" she paused, shaking her head. "It's nothing."

With that she smiled, picking up her suitcase - which was characteristically tiny for a weekend trip - and making towards the door.

"Let's get out of here, shall we?"

With that the two blond women loaded the car and headed out, all in a very tension filled Dunham-silence.

To an outsider they looked practically identical: center parted hair, serious expression, and black-and-grey-clad from head to toe. The only difference were Etta's eyes, which instead of being her mother's delicate green, were instead her father's bright blue.

The strangest thing, though perhaps not that strange in 2037, was the fact that for fifty-eight year old mother, Olivia Dunham looked no more than in her late thirties. It had been sometime ten years ago that Nina Sharp had convinced her to test one of Massive Dynamics stranger products. Nowadays, almost everyone over the age of thirty popped Massive Dynamic's Rejuvenating Supplements like their morning vitamins, but Olivia was a little embarrassed to say she was the first. Peter had told her he didn't care whether she looked eighty years old or twenty-four, he just wanted her to be natural. However, Nina had made a pretty strong argument that once this started flying off the shelves, it wouldn't be long before her look made her weak instead of knowledgeable; damaged instead of strong. So with that, she embraced her almost immortal look.

In 2037, science had come so far as to increase the average life expectancy to an amazing 130 years old, news reports saying it increased a year around every thirty-six months. Technology was developing at an exponential rate, their means finally catching up with their imaginations. Sometimes she wondered what the world would come to in a hundred years, how they could develop so far as to have invented the Observers they knew today.

And yet, when she watched the news or wandered the labs at Massive Dynamics, she didn't think it that impossible.

"I kind of remember the lake."

Henrietta broke the silence and unwittingly interrupted her mother's train of thought.

"I know we haven't been in forever, but I do remember it a bit, you know? Like the smell of Dad's pancakes, or the way the bed sheets were always kind of scratchy and stiff."

"We always used to forget to pack fabric softener," Olivia laughed, the memories of a young Bishop family flooding back. "And your father would let you eat ice cream in bed. So of course I'd end up spending the weekend washing your sheets of chocolate stains."

Despite her reservations toward her mother, Henrietta smiled at the thought.

"I remember that too," she said, the smile growing larger as she turned to her mother, seeming to have forgotten how she was supposed to despise her, and instead nearly jumped from her seat as she spoke of her childhood. "He'd always say that I couldn't tell Mom, because you're favourite thing in the world was chocolate ice cream. You'd be mad if you knew I'd eaten the last bit."

"Well, you can't knock his creativity."

"Or his love of late night snacks."

They both laughed at this, Olivia turning onto Berkeley Court, a cull de sac in Brookline where the house Peter and Olivia had bought in 2012 was. It was quaint and suburban, but it had turned out to be almost perfect for their blooming family. If they wanted to give Etta a normal life, they had to go all the whole nine yards. Just as she pulled into the driveway, smiling faintly to herself as she saw the wind chime Rachel had given her on their wedding day hanging from the porch, Etta interrupted her thoughts.

"Hey Mom?" she asked, hesitant and watching her mother intently.

"Yeah, what is it?" Olivia asked, glancing at Etta as she took the keys out of the ignition.

"I just-" she began, pausing. "I just wanted to say-"

At this she seemed to close down, glancing up at the house where her father had come out with a box, waving at his wife and daughter from the porch. The silence stretched on for a moment with Olivia watching her, waiting for her to say what was on her mind, curious to see what was bothering her so much.

"You know what? Never mind," she said suddenly, flashing her head to her mother with a brief smile, though it looked more like a grimace to Olivia. "Let's just get on the road."

"Yeah, all right."

Olivia didn't follow Henrietta immediately as she hopped out of the car, and instead took a moment to sit alone in the car, enjoying the silence. Sometimes she just couldn't figure out what had happened between the two of them. Had it been her fault in raising Henrietta? Should she have not been so hard on her when she was starting out in the Fringe Division? She knew, realistically, that if she thought too hard on it she'd only serve to drive herself crazy, but she just couldn't help it sometimes. She was her daughter and she was a _mother_. Wasn't this supposed to be natural? Easier?

She nearly jumped from her seat when a rapping from her window interrupted her thoughts, grabbing her chest in shock.

On the other side of the glass was her husband, a single eyebrow raised at her as he stared at her in front of the wheel. She smiled faintly, her heart beat returning to normal as she calmed herself, nodding as he made a gesture towards the car, which looked sufficiently packed and ready to go.

She waited until he'd walked away before opening the door and getting out herself, pausing to take a gulp of the fresh air around her. Though Massive Dynamic had air filtration units all around the city, she found there was nothing quite like good old photosynthesis. After she'd finished her moment, she grabbed her bag from the truck - which Henrietta had left open after she'd grabbed her own luggage - and joined her husband and daughter in packing the car.

"Hey, luv," greeted her husband, kissing her cheek as she made it to them. "We just need to squeeze your bag in back, and we should be off."

"Sounds good," she said, letting him take her bag and watching him with her hands on her hips.

Only a few more hours now and she'd be away from it all. She'd just be with her family, alone; it was just what she needed.

* * *

_Reiden Lake, Schenectady, NY_

It took them precisely two hours and fifty-seven minutes to get to the lake house, the sun blazing over the beach and bouncing through the windows on the side of the house. Olivia's breath caught as she looked out over the water, flashes of a young girl running across the beach in her polka-dot one piece, screaming at the top of her lungs. She could so clearly feel Peter's arms around her as they watched their daughter play in the sand, the absolute beauty of the perfect afternoon.

She'd almost forgotten how amazing this place made her feel.

"You've got that look again," whispered Peter as they unloaded the truck, Etta having gone in with a couple suitcases before them.

"Yeah?" She distracted herself with a box of food, checking the labels of a couple cereal boxes uselessly. "What look is that?"

He leaned towards her, placing a hand on hers to stop her from reorganizing everything in the box alphabetically, and whispered in her ear. "I think normal people call it happiness."

"Happiness? Nah," she joked, smirking up at him as she slipped her hand from his, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I think you may have me confused with someone else."

"Mmm, must have," he whispered, smiling into the kiss as his lips touched hers, in a brief tender second.

His hands found their way around her waist, pulling her closer to him to deepen the kiss, neither of them wanting to let go. She stretched her fingers out and weaved them into his hair, which he hadn't cut in ages and was starting to look a little too scraggly for her taste. She smiled herself as he hugged her even closer, feeling as if she'd forgotten what it felt like to kiss her husband like this. Forgotten what it tasted like.

"Get a room, would ya?"

Their daughter's voice immediately broke them apart, both of their hands immediately falling to their sides and their faces glowing a fierce red. Peter broke into a grin, chuckling to himself as he winked at her and then promptly turned on his heel, patting his daughter's shoulder as he passed on his way to the house.

"Just be glad you didn't walk in on something worse," he joked, making Etta's face contort in disgust.

"Thanks for that image," she said, groaning as she dragged her feet towards the car, picking up the last bag from the back.

Olivia chuckled to herself and lifted the box of food she'd been organizing, and followed Peter into the house, Etta close behind.

"So what do we do now?" Etta asked as they entered through the French doors and into the main living room, which was almost as haphazard as Walter had left it. Peter had always been adamant to leave it just like it was when he'd come as a child, refusing to put in a TV or even florescent light bulbs.

"What do you mean?!" exclaimed Peter from the kitchen door, hands extended in front of him. "We're in paradise, darlings, you can do whatever you like."

"I think you need to look up the definition of paradise," she quipped, dropping her bag on the floor and throwing herself onto the plaid-patterned couch, a cloud of dust rising around her.

"Oh no you don't," her father said firmly, wagging his finger at his daughter's back. "We're not gonna waste our times here lying on the couch." Etta stared at her father, not seeming convinced. "We're going swimming."

"Swimming?" Olivia asked, leaning on an end table near the entrance, arms crossed over her chest. She was getting a little anxious to change, still being in her work clothes and the stitching in her blazer starting to irritate her tired skin. Maybe getting into a bathing suit wouldn't be such a bad idea.

"Swimming," he confirmed, a new swagger in his step as he grabbed his bag from the front and headed towards the bedrooms. "Get dressed you two!"

Olivia laughed as Etta groaned on the couch, throwing an arm over her eyes and looking reminiscent of a fourteen year old who didn't want to get up for school.

"Come on," Olivia prodded, leaning over the couch so that she could run her fingers through her little girl's hair. "Play along. Just for the weekend at least." Etta simply sighed, turning her head towards the fireplace. Olivia took her hand away and smiled weakly. "Hey, just wait and see: maybe you'll even have a good time."

"Yeah," she answered, rolling her eyes with a smile as she pushed herself up. "Maybe we _all_ will."

Ten minutes later the three of them had set up camp on the beach, towels laying out side by side and an umbrella stuck in the sand behind them. Peter had packed lunches in a cooler as well as a couple beers and snacks. Etta's favourite thing as a child was licorice, something her grandfather had hooked her on since age three, which was probably not the best parenting technique, to say the least. So as per tradition, Peter always packed a packet of red licorice and a couple snack sized custards – another little honour to his father.

"Steamy romance novel?" asked Peter from his spot next to her, eyes closed as he lay on his stomach, head resting on his folded arms.

She simply laughed at him as she flipped the page in the Mystery Man file dossier, another page of DNA tests and psych evaluations. Even after spending a good eighteen hours pouring over these files, she was still at a loss for who the man was or what he wanted with them. The only real thing linking him to them was his knowledge of their past cases and an odd interest in their daughter. Who could they possibly have known back then that they wouldn't recognize now? Was he a shape shifter? Some phantom that had been stalking them over the years? Perhaps if she could just speak to him alone, see if she was forgetting something or the picture they'd taken of him was off or something…

"Getting interesting huh?" Her rolled onto his side and balanced his head in his hand, smiling sleepily at her. "Getting kinky?" He waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, grinning wide. "Please do share."

"Oh shut it," she said, with yet another smile, worrying that her cheeks might be sore tomorrow if she kept this up. Flipping the page, her face grew serious again, sighing and running her fingers through her hair. "I just-" She paused and looked out at the water, where Etta had been wading, every so often floating on her back and staring up at the clear sky. "This guy, he's just a complete mystery. There's nothing here that has gotten me any closer to figuring out who he is, why he's here, and what he wants. It's just so frustrating, you know?"

"I know." He moved closer to her and placed his free arm around her waist, staring up into her eyes. "But, Livia, you're not going to find something new in those files. You've already looked them over a million times."

"I can't just let it go, though." She ran another hand through her hair, her neck tensing as it always did when she became nervous about a case. "It's not just about us this time." She watched Etta dip her head under the water, pushing her hair over her shoulders as she resurfaced. "She's everything, Peter. I can't lose that. _We_ can't lose that."

"I know, Livia. Trust me, I know."

The two of them lay there just like that for a while, staring at one another and comforting each other with their simple proximity. The sun felt like a warm bath, something almost surreal in the life she'd become accustomed to living. She'd almost thought it impossible for her to have a quiet, perfect moment.

Maybe this place just brought that out of her.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Peter said breaking the silence and lifting his arm from her midsection and reaching into the cooler for a beer. "Want one?" She nodded and he opened one for her, passing it on. "Right before I left the lab last night I found something kind of strange in that body Astrid and I were working on. The one from the Kruger case?"

She nodded patiently, taking a long sip from the bottle.

"You see I passed it off as just an anomaly in the first victim, thinking maybe it was a misread on the test or something. But I found a strange chemical in both victims' blood stream. And not a common chemical."

"And what does that mean exactly?"

"It means that whatever the chemical is, it's nothing I've ever seen before," he said, his eyes seeming to light up with a strange curiosity. "Which leads me to believe it's not something you can simply pick up from your local supermarket. It's fabricated. And by a pretty genius chemist, at that."

"So who could do this?" she asked, her Special Agent side clicking back on like an old friend, her brow furrowed and her right hand picking at the label on her beer. "What kind of person would be smart enough to brew something like this?"

"Well, I'll tell you where you can start," he said, a look that said it was almost too obvious. "I think it may be time for another visit to Massive Dynamic."

* * *

That evening Olivia found herself not being able to focus on anything; the information that Peter had revealed to her was weighing too heavily on her mind to think of anything else. She kept trying to invest herself in the conversation at hand, nodding and smiling with the two of them as they bantered about the agency or the latest football game, but with no such luck.

So when Peter and Etta had pulled out the box of board games that was hidden in the crawl space, she excused herself to hide away in her and Peter's bedroom. Her comm sat on the night stand, and crawling into the bed, she laid it in front of her, legs crossed over one another. She slid her finger over screen, the little light it emitted lighting up the room with a blow glow. Finding Nina Sharp's name, she tapped it once and sat back, waiting for her to answer.

It rang three times and then suddenly Massive Dynamic's CEO was in front of her, her face translucent and blue, a hologram projected before her.

"Olivia?" Nina Sharp asked, her eyes confused as she stared at her. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No, no, of course not," she answered quickly, sometimes forgetting how Nina felt about her. It was hard to imagine a life where she'd grown up with this woman as a mother, but not impossible. Over the years, specifically once Etta was born, Nina and Olivia had become close, almost like niece and aunt. Almost like mother and daughter. And yet, at times, she still forgot. "I just have a few questions for you. About a case."

"Oh, well of course. Anything you need, Olivia."

"That's very kind of you, Nina." She paused for a moment, thinking over what she was about to ask. "You see, we've been investigating a series of murders. The bodies we've found have certain… discerning characteristics. Their flesh seems to have simply disappeared from their bodies, their hearts are missing, and their eyes are glassed over."

She paused again, trying to see if there was any reaction from the woman before she continued.

"However, Peter just found a very odd chemical in the victims' blood streams. He says it's something he can't even identify, advanced beyond what we're even capable of doing as human beings."

"I'm confused, what can I do to help?"

"Well we were wondering if Massive Dynamic was maybe working on a similar compound," Olivia explained slowly, hands clasped over her knees. "Maybe you might be able to lead us to some scientists that might be capable of this kind of chemical engineering."

"I'm afraid I don't know of any scientists that are capable of such a drug," she answered, seeming to look over Olivia's shoulder as he spoke. "However, I may know a subject that could."

"A subject?"

"It's what we call our beta testers. Individuals who sign up to be the first on a line of some new drug. Similar to when I gave you those Rejuvenating pills, remember?"

"Yeah, I remember." Olivia felt herself growing anxious, concern washing over her. "So what, you think they were testing this drug? This is Massive Dynamic's work?"

"No, you see we were testing a very different drug. One that stimulated the parts of the brain that worked with logical reasoning and innovative thought." Olivia leaned closer to the hologram, enthralled by the information. "We theorized that by sending a sort of adrenaline to these areas one could expand a person's mind at an almost impossible rate."

"So what?" She asked, curiosity evident in her voice. "You were fabricating geniuses?"

"Essentially, yes. We were."

"So then you think what? That one of these subjects is behind the murders?"

"Well if you're right and this new compound is something only a genius scientist could make, it stands to reason that it could be."

"But don't you monitor them?"

"That, Olivia, is precisely why I bring it up." Nina paused, Olivia almost thought selfishly so as to keep her hung on her every word. "A few months ago something went wrong, you see. The subjects were having some sort of adverse reaction to the tests."

Olivia gulped audibly as she stared at Nina Sharp waiting for what she could only dread was coming.

"They escaped, Olivia. All of them."

* * *

**So I wanted to quickly say, that if you're enjoying this story (which I really hope you are) and you want to see more, please go to my profile and follow the link there to my blog where you'll find lots of goodies including chapter art, extended author's, fact sheets, etc. etc. I'm testing this companion idea out on this story, so please check it out and let me know what you think. If anything, you might learn something cool.**

**With that said, thanks for reading and reviews make me happy :)**


	5. An Old Friend

**AN –** I'm sorry! I know, I know, it's been a bit longer than usual to get this one up. I think I may have cursed myself by setting such a good standard at the beginning there, but alas hopefully this will be the longest you'll ever have to wait for a chapter. Anyways, I hope you've all enjoyed so far! Your reviews made me really happy, and I see some of you checked out the blog too, which is great! Hope you enjoy this next one, and remember that a scene beginning in a bolded letter means that it's in the AU, just a reminder :)

* * *

**Chapter Five**

**An Old Friend**

* * *

_Harvard University, Boston, MA_

"What, so Massive Dynamic's been genetically producing geniuses?"

Peter Bishop leaned over his wife's shoulder as she flicked her finger across the screen, shuffling through page after page of detailed journal entries describing the drug trials Nina had told her about. After they'd returned to Boston after their weekend away, the Bishops had immediately jumped into the new found information on the Kruger case. They'd already dug through almost all of Massive Dynamic's records, sifting through all the information they had the trial.

It had been a few hours of work now, their eyes beginning to droop slowly as the early morning turned afternoon, with still what looked like a few more _days_ of information left to get through. Peter almost thought, for a brief second, that he might be getting too old for this.

"What don't they do, indeed," Peter whispered, pointing at a name on the file she was on. "Stop! There, see?"

"Johnny Clark?" she read aloud, scrolling to the bottom of the page. "Graduated from Princeton. Top of his class in Biochemistry. He applied to Massive Dynamic two years ago."

"But look here," he directed her towards a line beneath 'Education', "It says he wrote his thesis on skin regeneration. Surely that's gotta mean _something_."

"I don't know," Olivia said, shaking her head. "Our victims were missing their skin. Not growing it back. It can't be him."

Peter rubbed his chin as he leaned over her.

"Well they're experimenting aren't they?" he asked, his eyes narrowing at the glowing screen. "What if the experiments just went wrong?"

"It's possible, I suppose," Olivia admitted. "Mark him down."

"Already on it."

They'd come up with something of a system together, Olivia flipping through the files in search of names or information, and when she found something, he'd mark them down on the white board. So far they had three prominent names: Drake Henry, their victim from MIT; Johnny Clark, the Princeton graduate that Peter had just added; and Lucas Taylor, a mysterious name they found almost everywhere. All they knew about Taylor was that he'd been at MIT when all of a sudden he dropped off the face of the Earth. Four years later, he resurfaced in almost every scientific magazine and paper around, claiming he was the world's youngest and most promising new innovator. He - like most of the names they'd pulled up - specialized in Biochemistry and, as Peter would have expected, the impossible. The magazines raved that he was daring and afraid of nothing: making him the perfect mix of brilliant and completely insane.

In a way, he reminded Peter of what a young Walter Bishop might be like.

Other than this and an essay he'd once wrote on Dr. Kruger's experiments, they really didn't know much about him. He seemed relatively clean; at least nothing unflattering had popped up in their search, and he was pretty widely respected.

He was a mystery indeed.

Dr. Kruger, however, was another story in itself. With the new information on the drug trials, they'd been debating whether or not they still believed Dr. Kruger - the mad scientist whose work on skin degradation rate and left-ventricle transplants seemed to match with the case - was still involved directly with the Experimentalists (who they now suspected were simply a band of these beta testers, come together to use the world as their playground). On one hand, it was possible that this new breed of scientist was simply mimicking some of the greatest minds to date, Dr. Kruger included. However, on the other hand, the doctor had mysteriously gone missing a year and a half ago, his absence making _him_ their number one suspect. And on top of that, various scientists across the globe had been speculating whether Kruger's experiments stretched past the laboratory and into live subjects. It had even been rumored that he'd been using his students and teacher's assistants as guinea pigs.

The similarities to the case just seemed too much to pass off as coincidence.

"Here's another," said Olivia, her finger touching a name on the screen. "Paul Radnor. And get this: he was Dr. Tal's TA in grad school."

"Dr. Tal?"

"The lead scientist for Massive Dynamic's drug trials," she replied, from memory. "Nina's statement says he was a loyal employee, no priors, nothing to worry about. Matches with his background check too."

"And Dr. Tal was a professor?"

"Yeah. Seems like it. Why? What are you thinking?"

Peter held his left elbow as he scratched his chin again, staring at the far wall.

"Well think about it," he started. "The victims so far have all been college students. Mostly students in the science and engineering faculties."

He paused as he seemed to think to himself, a glazed look crossing his face.

"What class did he teach?" he asked suddenly.

"Chemistry 203," she regurgitated, again from memory. "Intro to higher level chemistry."

"Does he still work there?"

She nodded, watching him with curious eyes. "Part time."

"So it's a second year course that I bet is a prerequisite for most science majors," he added while pointing his finger at the screen, pausing as he tried to fit the pieces together. "Meaning, a pretty good selection for a group of grad students wanting to advertise their volunteers-needed psych experiments."

Olivia's eyes lit up and she nodded quickly, glancing over her computer screen.

"Astrid!" she yelled, watching as the bushy haired agent popped up from behind Gene, holding a brass bucket. "Can you search something for me?"

"Sure," she replied, peeling off her gloves and leaving the bucket - which Gene seemed to have failed to fill - in the pen. "What are you looking for?"

"I need a list of every student that took Chemistry 203 with Dr. Tal at the university. From his first day to the present."

"Aye, aye, boss."

The room seemed to light up as the two federal agents bustled around, hopping from computer to computer as if they were bees collecting honey. Peter stood off to the slide, twirling his whiteboard pen in his fingers, staring off at nothing.

It was almost as if even though everything seemed to be finally coming together, they were still so far from the answers they needed. If he was right in his assumption, Dr. Tal was probably not working part time as a professor just for the fun of it. If he was smart, he'd get his new group of scientists to pose as grad students and take in unsuspecting second years as volunteers. From there, they'd have a perfect focus group for any of their wild experiments, with the school being none the wiser. The only thing that kept Peter on his toes, however, was the fact that it seemed relatively easy to make that connection. Why had they even found bodies in the first place? Wouldn't it make more sense to have destroyed them? Left no trace?

It just screamed 'too easy'.

Suddenly, from behind him, the doors to the basement opened and in walked his daughter, hair falling over her shoulder as she entered.

"Hey," she greeted him, smiling. "What did I miss?"

"Well," he said, sweeping a hand in the direction of the two busy women behind him. "I'd like to say I know what's going on in their heads, but unfortunately, it seems their focus has blocked me out."

"Leave them be," she said, pushing herself up onto a counter next to him, watching her mother and Agent Farnsworth work away. "Means less work for us."

"Mmm, true."

"What are they doing anyways?"

"Following a lead on that Dr. Tal guy."

"The lead scientist of the trials?" Her eyebrows rose as she asked.

"Yeah. Seems the victims may have been coming from his class. Or maybe even the Experimentalists."

"Huh."

Peter nodded and rubbed his chin again as Olivia's face scowled at the computer screen, he and Etta falling silent. He liked the way her eyebrow seemed to burrow into her skull, as if her expression was forced to contort as the gears in her brain churned away. It just seemed so familiar, like the old days almost.

"Olivia, check this out," said Astrid, the silence of the room breaking suddenly as the bushy haired agent swiveled in her chair, getting up and bringing her tablet with her. Blue lights shone on the thin piece of glass, displaying what looked from afar like an enlarged driver's licence.

"What is it?" Peter asked, marching towards the two women and stopping to peer over Astrid's shoulder as she showed it to Olivia. Etta followed close behind, leaning on her mother's chair back. "Do you recognize one of the student's names?"

"No, it's not from the student roster," she said, moving her thumb and index finger across the screen to zoom in on the picture. "It's Lucas Taylor. I've found him."

"Found him? How's that possible?" Etta asked, remembering vaguely skimming over magazines just yesterday in the lab with the boy's name splattered all over them. "I thought he was off the grid?"

"Apparently not," he said looking over the ID. "See the address? He's even local."

"Funny," Etta commented, her expression curious. "For some reason I thought we'd find him in some lab, with like jars filled with human organs or something." Her nose scrunched up a little at that. "I just didn't expect him to be so…"

"Suburban?" Peter finished for her. "Me too." He stepped away from them, heading towards the door. "Well, let's take a trip, shall we?" He grabbed his coat from the stand as Etta followed and glanced at his wife. "Liv, you coming?"

"Nah," she answered, returning to her station in front of the computer screen. "I'll stay here. We've still got plenty to get through here. You two have fun."

"All right, your loss."

And with a wave of his right hand, Etta and Peter exited the lab, leaving the two agents to their own devices.

* * *

"What are you thinking?"

Etta nearly jumped at the interruption, her elbow bouncing where it propped her up on the edge of the window. She flicked her head towards her father, finding him looking back, hands on the wheel, a slight smirk on his face. They were sitting at a red light, only a block from Taylor's house. Etta had been lost in thought, the happenings of this morning weighing heavy on her chest.

It seemed the Board had passed yet another new addition to the Defense Act, again limiting the agents under their control. This time it was a new set of rules establishing the importance of caution, under the somewhat condescending title of "Conscientious Protocol in the Field". What was it that gave these men and women the right to tell her how to do her job? She'd love to see their credentials, love to see if they had half the experience on the field as she did. Had they ever even held a weapon? Ever had to face a criminal face-to-face? What qualified them to judge what protocol would work for them? She simply couldn't handle it anymore.

On top of that, this new addition meant each agent was required to call in all previously unplanned interrogations, suspect pursuits, etc. All in all, it made her job – like most of the Board's rulings, it seemed – ten times harder.

"Huh?" he asked, nudging her as the light turned green and he shifted his eyes back to the road. "What's going on in that head of yours?"

She smiled faintly and glanced out the window, holding back a sigh as she watched the buildings around them pass by.

"Nothing," she replied, trying to sound unaffected. "It's just been a long day."

"Well try not to stress too much, all right? We need you on your game this week."

"I know."

She smiled again, letting him watch her for a moment, knowing he was simply confirming that she was okay. She was grateful, really, that he cared.

"I will," she added quietly.

The car rolled around a corner and onto a suburban road, the houses running past them in strangely identical blurs. It reminded her of their own house, at the end of the cull de sac, her childhood memories washing over her like a warm blanket. She sometimes forgot how much she missed being innocent, just a child who loved her parents.

"Here we are," he announced, rolling up to a driveway in front of a plain white house. The grass out front was a well-kept green colour and the walkway was perfectly paved to the porch with an impeccably placed welcome mat at the front.

It gave Etta shivers up her spine.

The two of them leaped out of the SUV and headed towards the door, Etta placing a hand on her holster as they approached the door. She held out her other hand to gesture her father to fall behind her and walked up the porch steps, trying to keep her footsteps light.

When she came upon the door, she knocked three times.

"Mr. Taylor?" she called in, glancing through the window beside the door. "Fringe Division! We need to talk to you!"

She heard shuffling from behind the door and wrapped her hand around the hilt of her gun, an uneasy feeling coming over her. She could feel her father stiffen behind her.

"Mr. Taylor? We just need to-"

Suddenly the door flew open in front of them and revealed a short curly haired woman, her eyes wide as she stared at the two Bishops at her doorstep.

"C-Can I help you?" she asked, looking frightened. "Is Lucas in some sort of trouble? I swear I didn't know-"

"No, no of course not," she said, letting her hand slip away from her weapon and smiling at the woman. "We just have a few questions. Is he home?"

"No," she answered, still looking concerned. "He's been away all week. Working with a team in Melbourne."

"Sounds exciting." She tried not to let the disappointment show in her voice. She nodded towards the inside of the house. "Do you mind if we come in? Perhaps you could answer our questions, Miss…?"

"Shaw. Ingrid Shaw," she said, nodding. "And sure, come in. Please."

Etta nodded at her as she walked passed, the girl holding open the door for her and Peter. The two of them quickly scanned the room, taking in the basic landscape. It looked frighteningly average: family photographs in simple frames mounted perfectly level on the walls; the banister to the stairs leading to the second floor a shiny mahogany; even the carpets looked spotless, as if hardly anyone even lived here. It looked and felt untouched, like walking into a room from a catalog. It was clean, proper, and just like every other house on the street no doubt, Etta thought to herself.

"Is it only the two of you living here?" Peter asked, looking at a family portrait of the girl, a boy who matched Taylor's description, and an elderly couple.

"Yeah, just us," she replied, tugging on the ends of her sleeves. "Would you like to sit? I can grab you something to drink, maybe?"

"Sure, sounds great." Peter smiled at her and followed her into the kitchen, where he and Etta took seats at the dining table while Ingrid went into the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot.

"Coffee's fine?" she asked, already pressing the button on the stainless steel machine.

"Coffee sounds perfect," answered Etta, getting a little bit anxious to get over the small talk and onto what they came here for. She shifted in her seat and leaned on her elbows, watching Ingrid maneuver the cabinets, searching for mugs. "You guys keep it pretty clean here, huh?"

"Oh yeah, Lucas is a total neat freak," she admitted, smiling to herself a little bit.

"Huh," said Peter, rubbing his chin. "You'd think with him gone you might loosen up a bit. Walk around with your shoes on or something."

He laughed jokingly but Ingrid paused for only a split second, a look of terror flashing over her face so briefly that Etta almost missed it. Whatever had been said, however, struck a chord with the girl.

"Well," she replied, smiling more easily now, and seeming to remember herself. "Maybe he's rubbing off on me more than I'd like to admit."

She laughed too and pulled down three mugs as the machine clicked finish, filling the cups to the brim. She offered them cream and sugar, and as they helped themselves, she took the seat across from them.

"Thank you," said Etta quietly, sipping at her coffee. "So how long have you two been together?"

"Almost three years now," she said, though Etta sounded just slightly robotic. "We met at MIT actually. I was in my first year, studying engineering." Etta shared a look with her father. The girl didn't look much like the engineering type. "I know, hard to believe right? Most people tend to think I'm a hostess at the Olive Garden or something." She seemed to feel more comfortable now, speaking freely and smiling honestly. "Unfortunately for my high school reputation, I take after my parents. They're both professors, geniuses of their generation. I've always been kind of a nerd."

"So when did the two of you move in together?"

Ingrid's hands shifted as she lifted her mug to her lips, Etta cataloging each movement inside her head. She couldn't quite get a read on her, but something felt off in the air. As if there was just a subtle disturbance in the atmosphere.

"Just last year actually," she replied. "Lucas' parents bought us the place," she lifted her left hand, flashing a humble silver ring there, "as an early wedding gift."

"You're engaged?" Peter asked, eyebrows rising. "Congrats."

"Thank you."

Her smile was elegant and understated as she retracted her hand, glancing down into her lap as she remained silent.

"You said Lucas was away in Melbourne?" Etta asked after a long pause. "Do you know what he was doing?"

"He doesn't tell me a whole lot about his work," she admitted. "But he said he had to meet a team of scientists there. They're working on some new medication, a cure to something I think. He likes to be pretty secretive about that kind of stuff, but whatever it is it's big. If I didn't know better I'd think he was off curing cancer or something."

She laughed, but Peter interrupted her

"If you didn't know better?"

"Well, you know," she said, her expression sobering a little. "He's not exactly a doctor or anything. Not really the savior type."

"How's that?" Etta probed.

"I don't know… I guess, he's… cagey? You know, distant with people. But hey, what do I know. Maybe the cure for cancer doesn't require a lot of bedside manner, right?"

"Right," said Peter, sounding sceptical. "Well you've helped a lot Miss Shaw. Thank you so much for your time…"

Etta zoned out as her father kept on talking and her eyes drifted outside the window and into the backyard. The grass, like the front, was pristine and a bright green colour. Their fence looked freshly painted and was bordered in the back by massive trees, hanging over and into their yard. Near the very back was a white shingled shed, made to match the design of the house. Her eyes were sweeping across the side of it when she passed over a window, and for the briefest of seconds she swore she saw-

"…you've been a great-"

"Is anyone else here, Miss Shaw?" Etta's jaw was locked as she was stared her down, her eyes almost mere slits.

"E-excuse me?"

Her voice gave her away, however, and within seconds Etta's gun had been pulled from her holster and she was sprinting for the back door.

"He's here!" she yelled to her father as she bolted. "Taylor is here! Call it in!"

She kept moving as the door slammed behind her and she only hoped that her father got in touch with the Board supervisors before she caught up to Lucas. However, the last thing on her mind as she sprinted across the lawn towards the shed - gun lifted in front of her and pointed ahead - was the Board. Taylor had obviously heard the commotion, because Etta saw a shape pop out of the sun roof of the shed and leap over the fence into the neighbour's yard, glancing back momentarily at her.

Lucas Taylor's face stared back.

"Stop! Fringe Division!" she yelled watching as he fell out of sight into the other yard and following him as fast as possible.

She made a beeline towards a long rectangular flower pot and used it as leverage as she threw herself at the fence, grasping at the top. Pulling herself over, she felt adrenaline course through her like fire, lighting up her every cell. She threw herself over and landed on her left shoulder, pain flashing through her as she rolled over. The energy of the chase fueled her however, and she leapt to her feet, holding her shoulder as she ran, her gun held loosely in her useless left hand.

"I said stop!" she screamed as Lucas Taylor looked over his shoulder at her, his feet still moving beneath him. She gasped however as he didn't see the edge of the pool in front of him, and in almost a comic slow-motion moment, he tumbled into the water creating a splash that wet her shoes. In a split second she had moved her gun to her right hand and held it pointed at him as he surfaced, panting.

"Don't move!" she demanded, taking heavy breaths herself as she glared at him. Her chest rose up and down and her hand trembled a little bit under the weight of her weapon, the adrenaline beginning to fade and the pain in her shoulder beginning to throb.

"It's over Taylor," she said, steadily and fierce, hearing sirens in the background. "You're coming with me."

* * *

_Department of Defense, Liberty Island, NY_

**T**he rain outside the window pounded loudly, making the ground shake a little as each drop hit the surface. The sun had long ago retreated behind the graying clouds and all warmth had been sucked from the air. Liberty Island looked especially bleak that late November day, even the copper of the statue above them looking almost grey in the worsening weather. Though usually this time a year New York saw a few days of snow fall, it appeared they wouldn't be that lucky in 2037, as it had been raining nonstop for the majority of the month. News casters had several different theories, the two most popular being "Global Chilling" or government experiments.

Walter Bishop, however, knew better.

As the Secretary of Defense, Walter knew almost better than anyone – including the President himself – about what was causing the stranger differences in their world. Unlike before the bridge was formed between the two universes, the world wasn't necessarily collapsing in on itself, but rather mirroring the conditions of its parallel universe.

Though when the discovery of the other universe had just been made Walter had realized that small or large differences were made up of slight changes in decisions, this new mirroring effect was entirely separate.

The weather, for example, the Chilling of the earth was a direct opposite to the conditions on their side, which Walter had grown a hypothesis on in secret when the bridge was still up. He'd noticed other things too: children who were born from the same parents but of a different sex; a drought here where there'd been a surplus crop in the other universe; or in some cases even the tides of an entire ocean suddenly changing directions. Like most things to do with the opposing universes, Walter was at a loss for an explanation, each detail only derailing his last solid theory.

What he hadn't expected was the fact that the closing of the bridge wouldn't end these strange developments. Though his heart had nearly been ripped to shreds with the knowledge of never seeing his true son again, the closing of the bridge had been his light of hope. Hope that perhaps all their lives would return to normal.

Even if 'normal' left him son-less.

But when the mirroring events didn't stop, Walter of this universe grew periodically more perplexed. If cutting ties with the alternate universe didn't work, what would?

His thoughts, however, were interrupted as a knock came from his office door.

"Come in," he called out, turning away from the map on the wall and towards the man who was entering.

"Mister Secretary," greeted the man in uniform. "Agents Dunham and Lee are here to see you."

The secretary's eyebrows rose, curious.

"Let them in," he said.

His hands folded behind him, he stood staring at the door until the familiar faces of Olivia Dunham and Lincoln Lee walked into his office. At first, he smiled at them pleasantly, but his face twitched slightly when another, rather unfamiliar face followed them in.

"Mister Secretary," said Agent Dunham, offering his arm for a hand shake. "It's been a while."

"That it has, Agent Dunham. And it's nice to see you as well, Agent Lee."

"Likewise, Mister Secretary."

There was a pause as his three visitors stood before him, Walter's eyes still focused on the unfamiliar boy with them. He looked confident and steady, though his gaze was traveling around the room, staring at it like it was something fascinating. He noticed that the boy was fiddling with a ring on his finger, spinning it round and round. Walter wondered what he had to be nervous about.

"And who is this?" he asked, kindly, an encouraging smile flitting over his wrinkled face.

"I must have forgotten how long it's truly been," apologized Agent Dunham, hands clasped in front of her. "This is my son," she gestured towards Trevor, implying he should step forward, "Trevor."

Following his mother's prompt, Trevor stepped forward and mimicked his mother earlier, extending his hand towards Walter.

"Mister Secretary. It's an honour to meet you."

Though it seemed he'd meant for his words to sound kind and genuine, Walter caught the look of disdain on the boy's face. He'd seen it many times before from a variety of protestors and student leaders. His PR team had pushed him to schedule bi-annual meetings with anti-tech sponsors, professors from the country's most vocal universities, or rebels who'd made their expectations clear through public demonstrations. So without so much as another word, Walter was sure he knew why this boy was so wary of him.

"I seem to doubt that," he said flippantly, chuckling slightly to himself. However, before any of them could react to his comment, he turned to Olivia, face serious. "So to what do I owe this pleasure, agents?"

Olivia and Lincoln shared a look that Walter didn't miss.

"Well, sir, we noticed that a case we were working on flagged your attention," she shifted slightly on her heels in typical Olivia Dunham fashion. "We're here to see if you might like to shed some light on _why_."

"You're a good agent, Dunham. So I'd assume you know that's classified information."

"Yes, I'm aware, Mr. Secretary."

Lincoln stepped forward this time, his expression a mix between focused and frustrated.

"But we can only assume, sir, that if it flagged your interest that you know something pertaining to this case. And as you can understand, any information can be vital to our investigation."

"I do understand, Agent Lee, trust me. This is simply beyond my power."

"Beyond your power?" The room stirred slightly as Trevor spoke up, his voice irritated and angry. "I find it hard to believe there's _anything_ 'beyond your power'."

The Secretary chuckled again at this, pacing with his hands behind his back.

"As much as I'd like to believe I'm all powerful, even a man with a title as mine answers to someone. Even if that someone happens to be my mind's own conscience."

"Well then get over yourself and tell us what we need to kn-"

"_Trevor_."

His mother had grabbed his arm with a tight grip, scolding him with her glare. Walter watched as they shared a long look, Trevor seeming to shake with the intensity of the moment.

"Leave him be, Agent Dunham," said Walter. "Every man is entitled to their own opinion. That's what makes this country great."

"No, that's what _made_ it great-"

"Trevor, this really isn't the time," whispered his mother harshly, seeming to ignore Walter's statement. "I'm sorry, sir. I'm not sure what's gotten over him."

"No apologies necessary, I assure you."

"Well, in any case," said Lincoln this time, seeming to ignore his wife's outburst, "We'd still very much like some information, sir. Anything you could tell us."

Walter stared up at his map again, the blinking red and green lights seeming to grow by the day. Though ambering was much less popular today, they were still threatened by fringe events every day, new lights flicking on in a new city every hour. Every so often, the Secretary would glance up at the map and hope that today maybe there'd be no lights on at all. It may have been a fool's dream, really.

"Again, I shouldn't be telling you much."

His pacing echoed throughout the room.

"But, I do agree that I may be only hindering Fringe Division's investigation."

"So, what do you know then?" Lincoln asked, curious.

"The case you were investigating, the one with the boy with the disappearing skin, it did indeed flag my attention." He paused briefly. "_You see_… it's not exactly the first time I've seen these same characteristics. The skin, the glassy eyes, and the missing heart are all things-"

"Missing heart?" interrupted Olivia. "Sir, we haven't even done the autopsy yet. How do you know the heart's missing?"

"I assure you, they will discover the heart to be missing," he stated with confidence, staring into the redhead's eyes as he did. "Moreover, they will discover a certain chemical in their bloodstream. They won't recognize it at first because technically, it hasn't even been made. However, with a closer eye, they'll discover the truth."

"What do you mean? You're saying our morticians are going to find something in this chemical?"

"Not so much something, but more so a signature." The Secretary paused again for a moment, greedily enjoying the brief second of tension that filled the room. "A distinct one at that."

"Whose?" asked Lincoln, concern etched into his face.

Walter frowned, looking between the three of them with a slow glance. This piece of information had been his sole property for so long; it seemed a shame to give it so willingly. But alas, even he couldn't deny the severity behind it: the implications of what was to come once it was revealed.

And with that, he decided to speak.

"The signature," he said. "Belongs to William Bell."

* * *

**So what did you think? Good ending? Bad? What would you like to see next? Any predictions? Let me know in a review!**

**Also another reminder to check out the blog if you haven't yet, I promise it'll be worth your time!**


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